Telling Thoughts
by Doublebend
Summary: AU after the Winter War. After the death of his secret lover, Ichimaru, Toushiro struggles to cope with the grief he must keep bottled inside. But when he is offered a mysterious second chance for salvation, in the form of a shadow of the man he could not let go, he vows to protect it at all costs this time. Yet, as the past and present collide in him...GinHitsu, onesided IchiHitsu
1. Maybe This Time

**Woot! Finally, a GinHitsu fic of mine got uploaded!**

**...I must have, what, 10 unfinished stories on my desktop?**

**Personally, I've been losing the will to continue reading Bleach after the whole fiasco with the Fullbringers or whatever lately. But Rukia reappearing makes things marginally better. Here I am hoping that Tite-sensei hasn't made any drastic changes to Toushiro (like made him look older when he hasn't grown an inch in oh, about forty-five years and called it _a growth spurt_, urgh), and that he'll appear soon with cooler superpowers! Boom boom!**

**Hmm. Maybe I just "lost my will" because Gin had died in the most boring way for such a great double-backstabbing character, just because Aizen wanted to show off how invincible he was and Gin was the only substitute available to be one of the lackeys that get caught up *quote* "in the rush of reiatsu that sweeps up from the super evil character's feet, whirls around him for special effect and cuts up anything and anybody who happened to be standing near him when he decided to activate this particular display of strength". Good job, Aizen, you are now officially the only living thing on the evil side at the moment, as the Boss who is practically crazy and homicidal and thinks he is omnipotent and god and everything, only to be defeated at the last moment by the hero of the series - making the evil side rather boring. Gin - I knew he was a character that would die in the end (because really, where would he go if he was even alive?) but I couldn't help falling in love with the permanently grinning bad guy (always, ALWAYS, the permanently grinning bad guy). It broke my heart when he died. And there's that little part of me that betrays my first impression of him (see above), which half knows that Gin is hiding somewhere, building up his strength so that he can make a comeback and actually have a proper fight with Aizen once he escapes from that shoddy prison and properly save the world this time.**

**So! This is my take on the continuation of the series! Wow, that took a long time to get the point across. I ramble when it's two thirty in the morning and I have cram school from eight tomo - I mean, TODAY, followed by a visit to Rikyou University's open campus and demo lessons.**

**Disclaimer: My goal from now on is that whenever I'm starting on a new fandom, my first fanfiction on it has to be a M. So I will _make _the rating go up later. We can probably see where that will land Bleach if it was mine. And Ichimaru. And Toushiro. Unfortunately I do not ship Ichigo/whoever - only the former two.**

**R&R and enjoy, please~**

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><p>The night streets in central Karakura remained busy and noisy even when it was almost midnight, the cold winter air almost bearable when one mingled with the crowd and tried their best to wrap up in the emitted body warmth. Kurosaki Ichigo walked alone through the crowd of couples going Christmas shopping and people who had been working late now going home, hands stuffed into the depth of his pockets, chin burrowing into his scarf, as he breathed out a fine white stream of air that curled and disappeared gradually. The yellow lights spilling from the large windows of the shops lined down the road made it perfectly easy for the boy to see his feet and surroundings, despite the sky being so dark. A cool breeze started up, pinching his cheeks and he shuffled deeper into his heavy coat, ignoring the elicited cries of the people around him, complaining that it was cold and snuggling up to their lovers for warmth.<p>

People are strange when you're a stranger, faces look ugly when you're alone. And women seem wicked when you're unwanted. It was a line he had read in a book somewhere, and had unconsciously engraved it into his memory because he had thought how perfectly true it was in various parts of his life. Especially the last phrase. But although being rejected _had _hurt, and his inability to heal from wounds deep to the heart (apparent since his childhood) coupled with the limited time he had had to himself during the Winter War impended on his recovery from the shock, it was nothing compared to the realization that with his shinigami powers gone, he would never be able to even converse with _him _again – a feat he had considered astoundingly remarkable when he had managed to accomplish it after his humiliation. Yes, _him_. Ichigo's first crush; one-sided, of course, so painfully obvious he could not understand why he had not even taken that in account when he had confessed; already dead and a shinigami at that. And well, a guy. And other complications following _that_, but these were the factors that probably contributed to his extremity and fascinating presence which had attracted Ichigo in the first place. With an outlook and a personality to match the chilly weather Karakura was having right now.

Ichigo wondered if the weather could be Hyourinmaru's wrath, and that somewhere up in the sky, it's owner was battling for his life while taking part in a captain-level mission. He couldn't sense reiatsu anymore, but since the most powerful ice element zanpakuto wielded the power to change the weather, it may not be totally impossible to find his whereabouts by checking the emergency forecast. Ichigo knew that thinking about failed relationships for days on end was definitely not good for his mental health – he had heard plenty a miserable whine during lunch at school, usually emitted somewhere around where Keigo could be spotted curled up in a corner after his most recent mishap with a girl. Mizuiro seemed to have a detached sense of "relationship", and although Ichigo worried about it sometimes, he still seemed to be able to differentiate between what was disposable (although the orange-head wished there were less in that certain repertoire of Mizuiro's) and what was not – Chad either never felt the blow of a romantic life exploding in his face or he chose not to waste his breath on it. There was nothing to do in the winter break, however, and without his shinigami duties there wasn't much Ichigo could do except mope. His head felt constantly light and empty on his action-free days, so even if it was against his own will, he couldn't help but fill his mind with memories and the occasional fantasy his imagination had created of his first love.

He wished he had taken a photo before he had left (though it was questionable if a ghost would have shown up on film, and the thought, although it stung, was also a small relief, because he wouldn't be pressured by his inner conscience which ridiculed himself for his carelessness, even though a photo would probably just be torture to him anyway. Then he remembered that shinigamis had gigais, and the regret washed over him anew), because he feared that he was already starting to forget what his crush had looked like. Although his more distinctive features, like his hair and eyes and height, stayed crystal clear in his mind, the less prominent details of his being was beginning to fade inside of him. Ichigo screwed his eyes shut for a moment, a practice he had taken to over the weeks since the battle, not caring if he was in the middle of a busy street and was shuffling his feet along awkwardly to at least give the impression that he was moving. The contours of his face, the high cheek bones, the slightly upturned nose, the creases on his forehead that rarely seemed to fade, the taut muscles that rippled all over his body under pale skin and dark robes, waist so slim it looked as though it might break when gripped too tightly … he ran all the images in his head to piece them together to one person. It felt a little perverse, to remember somebody like that, but he did it with all his friends he had lost and was lucky enough to have stayed close enough to unconsciously pick up the details – Rukia, Renji, Byakuya, even Kenpachi. He just remembered this one person more frequently.

A night like this would have been a dream come true if he was beside me, he thought dully. I would have made him happy. I wanted to see his smile.

Ichigo sighed, and reopened his eyes, feeling a bit gloomier than he had before, when he glimpsed a small boy with snowy white hair covered by a hoodie walk across his path several feet before him.

He stopped.

The other did not.

But their eyes met, teal to brown, and then he had disappeared quicker than he had materialized through the gap of couples separating them. The instant was so brief, so seemingly insignificant in the masses, Ichigo would have thought it as a trick of the light; but he had seen the slight widening of those green, green eyes, had seen the emotions swirling like the depths of the sea behind clear glass - and that was enough to shock him into paralysis.

Ichigo stayed rooted to the spot for a split second before snapping out of his reverie, and gave chase to the figure he could not see in the crowd anymore.

"'Scuse me, coming through, 'scuse, _excuse _me–" he searched frantically, whipping his head around once he got to a clear enough space. People were staring at him, but he couldn't care less, he _had to find him_, he didn't dare to think what he would do to himself if he lost him now–

A figure flashing in a shop light near the edge of the street; he was slipping into a darkened side alley, between a cheerful looking jewelry shop and a small family owned grocery store which had already closed for the night. A woman shrieked when Ichigo accidentally bumped into her in his haste, he bowed his head slightly in apology before rushing to follow the child-like figure into the dark. Inside, he could hear pounding footsteps and pants that were not his own, echoing off the narrow walls that led further away from the busy road. His hopes rose when he heard the harsh breathing; they sounded familiar, and so sweet in his ears after so long, never mind how corny it seemed, the mere noise ignited his will and made him run harder. But although the teenager's legs were longer and faster than the boy ahead of him, the streets they had entered were small and winding, and with every turn Ichigo thought that the sounds were getting farther away. When after a couple of minutes he could no longer hear anything, even when he stilled his own breaths and ignored the pounding of his heart for a few seconds, he continued to sprint the next block until slowing to a halt, resting his hands on his knees to breathe.

He had been so close. He didn't know why the boy was here, nor what coincidence or fate or whatever had brought them to meet each other again, nor why he had appeared in his gigai (because Ichigo wouldn't be able to see him otherwise, right? Right?), nor why he ran. Well, maybe the last question could be answered. Ichigo had loved him for his matureness and sensibility he adorned most of the time, and although his appearance was that of a child, his inner self was far from one. He would know how Ichigo was still feeling, would have speculated that he had not yet let go of the unrequited love. He would want Ichigo to move on. He should have known that appearing before him now would only intensify Ichigo's emotions and leave him aggravated. It will kill him.

The lone boy gritted his teeth – out of anger, out of grief, in an overwhelming tide of anguish and hurt. There was spite there, too, but it wasn't aimed at anybody in particular, if not at himself for having wandered into such a situation. Desperate, needing and discarded. Remorse blinded him and he considered lashing out at the nearest wall, had he not felt like all his strength had up and left him. He was unaware of how far he had run, and though there were small shops surrounding him already closed, the hubbub of the crowd in the main street had disappeared into the night. But as he became aware of the cold sweat running down his neck, some dripping like tears on the way, and his feet felt less numb and his head clearer (though not less hurt, just trying to sort out the confusion that had overtaken him in the past minutes), he stiffened when easy footsteps seemed to be coming nearer, paced and careful in the dimness.

Ichigo hardly allowed himself to believe, he had been disappointed enough – but the idea that had entered his mind then gave him energy. The boy who had run had been nearby, at some point, and though the owner of these footfalls was obviously too heavy and relaxed to be who Ichigo was chasing, they might have seen him dashing off in another direction. Ichigo was not ready to give up yet, powered by the thought that _he still might have a chance_, and straightened, wiping his mouth as his ragged breathing still wheezed themselves out of his chapped lips. He was so excited he opened his mouth to get the other person's attention even before he could see them around the corner, but just when a faint shadow cast by moonlight appeared in his area of vision, another voice, playful and concerned, wavering and silky, melodic but chilling to the bones, sounded.

"My, my…why're ya in such a rush, Toushiro? Did something happen? Yer back faster than I thought…"

The voice trailed off when the person finally rounded the turn, laid his eyes on the shell-shocked Ichigo, stopped dead and pursed his lips for a moment. The pause was long enough for the teen to identify the locks of fine, silvery hair in the dim, blue-greyish city lights, the slim, tall body, a rather pointed face and eyes that had previously followed most into their nightmares, thin slits that seemed to see nothing and everything at the same time. The lips stretched into their trademark smile, although, in the back of Ichigo's head, something trilled unfamiliarity to the way it presented itself on the fox-face.

"Ah," said Ichimaru Gin, smoothly. "Mah apologies. I mistook–"

He wasn't able to finish the sentence, because Ichigo, poised with one hand slightly outstretched and his mouth agape to ask him the question, suddenly leapt into action and ran at him, almost screaming, fists closed and ready to make contact with the grinning, now openly stunned, face. He didn't try to register that a man who was supposedly dead – again – was here, and wearing material world's clothes; all he cared about was that this was an enemy he could not defeat even with his shinigami powers, this was the evil that had hurt _him_, had betrayed _him_ and had been partially responsible for _him_ sustaining those injuries Ichigo first met him with. A surprise attack certainly would have given him some advantage, but tactical thinking was not in Ichigo's mind right at the moment. There was only fear and hatred, which clouded his sight and left him with nothing but the wish to pummel this treacherous filth into the ground, so even the unnatural look of dumbfounded astonishment on the man's face did not make it to his brain.

And he couldn't dodge the thin, pale arm that snaked out from underneath Ichimaru's arms, which latched on to his neck under his scarf – which had become undone – with surprising force and strength, until it was too late and he was gasping with Hitsugaya Toushiro up in his face, snarling, "Don't you even _think_ about touching him!"

Ichigo, after the months of fighting experience with deadly foes, and with the memory of his mother giving her own life to save him still reminiscent, had learnt that when somebody threatened him in a way a female wolf would to protect her cubs from a predator to the point of eating them herself, it was best to give them some space if not only to bide himself time enough to save his own skin. He made motions meaning to wrench away from Toushiro's vice-like grip that was sure to leave bruises, and from Ichimaru, who was standing there behind Toushiro, stock still. The smallest of them all eventually got the message and released him, glaring daggers into the retching Ichigo's chest as though he was thinking of sticking his fist through it. He backed up protectively, nearer to Ichimaru, who put a hand on the boy's shoulders. Ichigo had recovered enough by then to catch the movement – he scowled, displeased, while trying to overcome his state of haziness (from both the puzzling turn of events and from oxygen deprivation).

"Toushiro," Ichimaru was saying, his fingers digging a little into the boy's skin over his hoodie. "What's going on?"

"That's my line, you evil bastard," Ichigo rasped. He glared at the tall man over Toushiro's head, while trying to keep an eye on the – apparently feral – boy himself at the same time. "How dare you show up in front of me again? And Toushiro – _what _are you doing! Get away from him!"

Ichimaru said, "Why does he get ta call ya by yer name."

"Shut up, he never listens to me when I tell him not to," Toushiro muttered. "As for you, Kurosaki, I would advise you to keep out of our business. You are not a shinigami anymore, Karakura is no longer an object needing of dire attention, so you have no say on our actions whatsoever. Stay away. Forget you ever saw us. It's for the best."

The ferociousness that had been in his grip and eyes had receded somewhat, and Ichigo could detect a sense of shiftiness around the boy after Ichimaru had spoken. "I'm not letting you off that easily," he retorted. His throat was raw from the panting in the cold winter air, so his voice came out hoarse and thin. "If you don't have to babysit Karakura anymore, why are you even here? And I thought _he_," Ichigo pointed an accusing finger at the fox-face, who was still looking innocently bemused but kept a firm hand on the boy in front of him, "He died! I got told that much. That creep died! What _is_ this, Toushiro! You aren't doing anything, are you!"

"No," Toushiro said, a little too quickly. "_No_, I – we're just, trying to solve that as–" He took a deep breath, backtracked, and glared at Ichigo in the eyes. Icy, emerald fire smoldered into chocolate. "I haven't gotten an answer for you," he said lowly, "But if you know that – that Ichimaru had died, you would also have heard about why and how he did. And you'd know that he doesn't deserve your comments."

The man behind him made no motion, half hidden in the shadows.

Ichigo stared disbelievingly at the two of them, Toushiro looking cornered and sweating, trying to stare Ichigo down but failing for some reason (he never had the problem before), just grounded by the single touch from the silent, infuriatingly relaxed Ichimaru. A car drove through the roads some streets away, it's engines roaring away into the night.

"Don't you remember," he said, voice shaking, fists clenching tighter, "What he did to try to achieve that? Did you, and the rest of Soul Society just decide to conveniently forget his crimes because you sincerely feel they were for the greater good? He almost _killed_ you, Toushiro!"

The boy's head jerked up, eyes wide, like a deer in headlights. But his reaction was next to nothing to Ichimaru's, whose hand slipped from Toushiro's shoulder and his almost gentle expression slackened into one of genuine surprise, of shock. "Wha–?"

Ichigo whirled on him, furious dark eyes flashing in what little light was around, rage spurring him on and making him unable to register the man's strange reaction in his brain. "You abandoned him and left him for dead," he hissed. "Stop fooling around! Stop touching him like you don't know how much it hurts him to just be _near _you, stop trying to act like you never lied to him–"

"Kurosaki!"

Ichigo hadn't noticed he'd been advancing on them, fixated on the steadily changing face, already so warped and twisted than his usual smooth, sly grin, taking sick satisfaction in the fact that the lanky man's arm had dropped completely away from Toushiro's body, hanging limply at his side as he made a movement that seemed as though he was going to take a step away from where the now frantic-sounding child stood too. The scenario that explained everything apart from Ichimaru's existence was playing perfectly in the teen's head; Ichimaru had been accepted back into Soul Society for his deeds, and since he was no doubt thought of unfavourably by any remaining followers of Aizen, Toushiro had been given the charge to protect him. Anger laced through the young man's body, that such a burden had been hoisted onto those slim, narrow shoulders, and one which Ichimaru could use to gloat and rub into Toushiro's face, as well.

He took several steps forward, near enough for Ichimaru to be within arm's reach. "I don't care what sins you've been pardoned for by those "higher-ups" everybody used to talk about," he all but snarled. "I don't care if they decided to overlook the role you played in the massacre, and Rukia's execution, and the Arrancar battle, but you should have known – you should have known that when you mess with somebody people care about, when you mess with _Toushiro_, I won't stand down, I'm gonna–"

But what Ichigo would have done was lost permanently in the wind that escaped through his lips when something hard burrowed into his abdomen, knocking him back as soon as he got into proximity. With Toushiro's foot. The orange head barely had time to react before something was fisting his heavy clothes around the crook of his neck, and Touchiro was throwing him single-handedly into a nearby wall. He yelled as his back connected with it, gagging at the impact. A flash of white; then Toushiro was more or less at his throat, screaming into his face, "_He doesn't remember!"_

A moment of stillness in the night. Ichigo continued coughing, watering eyes looking up at Toushiro's frantic, enraged, haunted appearance as he slumped to the hard concrete ground. He caught sight of Ichimaru, still standing unmoving as a rock, where he had backed away slightly from Toushiro after Ichigo's words. His own expression was like a splash of icy water to the teen's blinding fury; a look of horror, unbelieving revulsion, and although he could not figure out at what, the sight of the fox's unreadable face having morphed into something so different to polar dimensions was enough to finally get Ichigo to wrap around his mind that something was very wrong.

"He doesn't remember," Toushiro was saying, again. "This Ichimaru – Gin didn't do any of those things, Kurosaki. He has no clue – has no memory whatsoever of who he is or who he used to be, who _I_ was at the start. Gin is not the one you need to take your temper out on. If anything, it should be me."

He flicked his snowy locks out of his eyes – they were damp, Ichigo realized, with sweat, and ruffled from where they had been underneath the hoodie. Ichimaru advanced forwards then, and Ichigo stared up at him with confused eyes.

"Toushiro," he said in a low, slightly urgent tone. "What did he mean by that?"

And the words finally clicked together in Ichigo's brain. His thoughts were awhirl, disbelieving of the information he had just been given; it was unthinkable, that the traitorous dirt could simply have his memory wiped clean, that he could be forgiven for his actions as simple as that, and life for him could continue as though nothing extraordinary had ever happened to him. It was…unforgivable.

There is always the chance he is faking it, Ichigo reasoned to himself. Toushiro could have fallen into a trap.

But there was something about the way Ichimaru looked to the boy, shorter than him by definitely more than a head, like as though he was searching for guidance that made the tiniest seed of doubt spark in his chest.

"Don't worry about that for now, Gin," Toushiro murmured, without turning around, "I'll explain it, after we finish off here." (Ichigo didn't like the way he said the last bit).

"But," Ichimaru intervened. "Why didn't ya tell me about it before? Ya left it out," he said with a trace of accusation.

The white haired boy shook his head, a look of regret only visible to Ichigo flashing in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said finally, voice taking on the sound of someone trying hard to keep it steady, lest it crack along with the rest of him, straightening and turning towards the man standing so forlornly. "But…the affair was complicated. I'm sorry I withheld information you would have wanted to hear, but please, just bear with me for a while longer. It…it was hard for me to tell you. We'll talk later, I promise."

A hesitant pause on Ichimaru's part, before he gave an uneasy nod, uncertainty brimming so noticeably, "When yer ready. But tell me everything. I need ta know, Toushiro."

"Don't call him that," Ichigo muttered lowly. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but he snapped out of his reverie when the name entered his ears. But at least the shock had cleared his head, and the boy was more willing to approach from a different stance.

It didn't look as though Toushiro was about to give him the chance, however. He turned, slowly, back to Ichigo, the creases on his forehead as deep as ever, still looking protective, threatening the other to try. Ichigo was instantly reminded of the ferociousness the young captain fought with even with such a small body, treating physical stature as nothing much of a hindrance and instead using his agility to weave through the enemy's attacks. He took a deep breath, and tried to muster what he thought was a slightly more patient, composed way than before.

"Toushiro, I – I don't mean any harm to you," he started, "I don't understand. I – do you know how this is for me?" He looked up at the small, taut face from his place on the ground, knowing that he looked as confused as he felt. "I thought you were gone from my life. I thought all of you were; _e__specially _him." Ichigo couldn't help it – he glared at Ichimaru with as much venom in his eyes. Toushiro's expression remained stony. "Do you know how it is to have everything thrown back into my face? You…you didn't have to wear a gigai," he said, almost reproachfully.

There was a minute movement on Toushiro's part, which may have been a shuffle. "…I did, actually. Kurosaki…it's difficult to explain, or decide where to start with, but at the moment, Ichima – Gin, is just like you. He does not have any powers. He cannot see ghosts. He's, well, human. Just like you."

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><p><strong>What a horrible way to cut off the story (for me). I don't really do cliffhangers. I once almost killed myself with lack of sleep writing my fanfiction on here, Samurai Deeper Kyo, where one chapter was approximately 15,000 words long. And I wrote the chapters I have during four days, which might not seem like a lot to some writers around here, but for a middle school student? Shucks. I have not updated since XD<strong>

**Aah, earthquake. Just now. If there's sea sickness, can there be an earthquake sickness? It's probably my imagination, but they're getting longer and _definitely _more frequent. This is just how it was before the Touhoku earthquake, God bless the survivors. Tokyo is getting a lot of them lately, probably because of the Northern Tectonic Plate having slipped back in March, and is now affecting the (what I like to call) Central Tectonic Plate, where Tokyo is situated in. A big one would probably come in a month or so. If it was my choice, I would consider leaving the country for a bit, but you know. Reality. Whoops, that's me rambling again. Back to the fic.**

**I am so sorry if the characters seem OOC this time round. I promise it'll get better! Now watch me destroy what little resemblance of the ultra cool kick ass Shinigami personalities they had left, muahahaha.**

**_Reviews Please~_ And I might consider updating in the next six months! Ahhh, nothing like jokes at three in the morning...**


	2. Never Forget You

**Can I just say HAIL TITE! I _knew _you would pull through! Toushiro looks absolutely _perfect_ with his hair down (looks like he finally got rid of the child/chibi complex thing and resolved to the cool/cute side of him! HAIL!) and the tattered scarf is just the most beautiful bit of artistic license. Now if Ichimaru can just come back… (even if it means he'll have to die again, at least make it _meaningful_ this time).**

**Mental and shinigami power growth while in shota body with slight yet distinctive alterations in character features Doubly approves. ^^**

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><p>There had been a time, a long, long time ago, when Toushiro would have glared a person down to his knees if they ever suggested that he and Ichimaru would one day be involved with each other. And said it in such a tone and wiggling of eyebrows and had let the heavy implication hover in the air that there was no missing of the meaning behind the words, because the young captain sometimes needed a little help in deciphering things like sarcasm or insinuations of matters like these. Even when he and Ichimaru <em>had <em>gotten "involved" with each other through the smallest things, he lived in that time (Ichimaru, however, needed to be threatened a bit until he promised not to encourage suggestions like that), because multiple reasons detained him from letting his relationship with the taller captain come into light. In the end, it turned out to be a waste of effort, albeit only with a small number of those from the higher ranks, who swore secrecy only because such news would cause an eruption from the rest of the Gotei.

But they had both lived in the time, when Toushiro would be fussing and flinging himself between private life and work with such nervousness that Ichimaru wondered would be the cause of their little secret being blown even without his interference, and the older man would catch him during one of these bouts, hold him and stroke his hair, murmuring comforting words to release his stress and allowing him even the briefest moments of relief from the tension (he did, however, enjoy being the one to initiate the flinging again by sending Toushiro into a panic whenever he did or said something that would give people the smallest hints in front of their mutual acquaintances).

They had both lived in the time when they were together, and only together, and they were happy and awkward and learning and embarrassed and loving each other. Ichimaru had set himself on the task of showing Toushiro the ropes, because the boy was hesitant and unconfident with himself and Ichimaru was older, had more experience with relationships and was willing to lead the dance. He knew Toushiro didn't like being treated as a kid, so he taught him the usual ministrations of a relationship without giving heed to any adult content one should probably not expose to someone who looked younger than a teenager. It was an exciting experience for the older captain, because he had never had the chance to form a partner from scratch – and he would be lying if he hadn't sometimes dreamt of creating the perfect partner, one which suited his needs and matched all his types. But he had known Toushiro was extremely intelligent, and he had realized afterwards that he had unwittingly been teaching Toushiro something else – who he was really, his feelings towards various things, his ideals and misconceptions at times of what this relationship was. And Toushiro had been so accepting, and he had also been teaching as much as he was learning, and Ichimaru found himself falling harder for discovering Toushiro's own true self.

It was a time when they could joke around freely when they were off work and were no longer just colleagues, and Ichimaru would gently tempt his young lover into trying something new, like inviting him to sit with him under the moon, overlooking the gardens of either of their division, and silently pouring sake into their cups, lifting one to his lover's lips. Sometimes he suspected that Toushiro only faced these challenges because he believed it would take him a step closer to where Ichimaru stood, as though they were not equals but rather master and apprentice. But a smile was all it took to tell the worried man that Toushiro wasn't like that, that he wouldn't spend time with him if he didn't enjoy it, and Ichimaru would strengthen his resolve that he would protect this person, no matter what it takes.

It was a recent time, but in a way, it seemed also a time long past.

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><p><strong>Seireitei - Early Winter<strong>

It had hardly been a month since the Winter War, and the Death Gods had returned, tired, irritable, not at all uninjured, but victorious.

Although Toushiro had decided to dedicate most of his time to training and horning his powers, duties as a captain, it seemed, could not go ignored for so long. He soon found himself in a room, dark except for the multiple flickering lights from numerous screens embedded into the walls, staring at the largest one in the center. It showed a sort of radar of Rukongai, the structure of buildings in an area formed by a program that showed them as computerized green nets, and emitted beeping sounds that echoed in the large den.

The Tenth Division Captain kept his opinions about his co-workers to himself, finding that personal thoughts and impressions lead to almost prejudicial assumptions, but had to agree with the majority of Soul Society that Captain Kurotsuchi of the Twelfth Division was a downright freak. Even Komamura had more sense to not alarm his fellow shinigami in his younger days with his appearance, and retained the dignity worthy of a warrior, despite being of a species that had yet to be questioned. The man could creep out even the most sensible shinigami, and though Toushiro considered the Head of Research as a competent and efficient (sometimes too much, unfortunately), and certainly motivated scientist, he was very much tempted to keep his distance about a few arms' length long. It was a good thing that Kurotsuchi had no interest in the Tenth Captain and all his extraordinary attributes either, possibly having gotten bored of such anomalies some tens of years ago.

"Well, occurrences like these aren't too strange these days, and we all knew that they'll pop up sometime," Kurotsuchi was saying, his unnaturally high voice reverberating against the metal plated walls, "The Research Station has done its best in trying to stabilize the environment around that particular area, but really, it's like trying to fill in a deep hole in the earth which wasn't supposed to exist there in the first place, but did because somebody pulled and stretched space-time dimensions to make room for it without omitting or displacing any natural material that existed naturally. It's not easy."

"I was under the impression that what we did _was _just that?" Toushiro asked, an eyebrow raised, but the other man ignored him completely.

"So, just as we predicted, abnormal spiritual particles are being spotted all over this particular site in Soul Society. Most of the ones we found over the weeks were simply distorted, too affected by the presence and sudden disappearance of Karakura city to be able to be slotted into their normal places again. We, ah, disposed of those, of course. Really nothing to it."

The captain beside him was wearing a slightly mad smile. Toushiro resisted the urge to edge away and stilled his almost shuffling feet.

"Now, _this _one, however, is a different matter entirely. Of course, I had felt something rather off about it from the first moment it was sighted. There are quite a few peculiar factors about it…where to start, now where to start…"

The boy captain considered the screen before him. If he looked closer, he could make out a fuzzy red mark between the green nets of landscape and obstacles, and that the beeping sounded every time a wave of the radar reached it. Unlike much of its surroundings, the mark was unclear, vague; it flickered like a small flame on a candle, almost as if it was undecided of its existence itself. Toushiro found himself surprisingly engaged with watching the small thing, curiosity grappling him underneath his expressionless mask.

Kurotsuchi cleared his throat, and the Tenth captain reluctantly tore his attention away from the screen, needing to hear what the man had to say.

"About thirty one hours ago, when my subordinates first identified this presence, it's form, reaction and emission of spiritual particles wasn't too different to that of regular matters of Soul Society. With luck, we thought we could regulate its balance back to that of normal particles. But when a group of useless, sniveling underlings of _my_ underlings went to search it out and retrieve it, it disappeared from our sights. Not only was the dispatched shinigami unable to witness its being and recover it, but we also lost it on this radar, too. It was like its strength just gave out on it, and it vanished. Just like that!"

The light on the screen certainly did look as though it might just flicker out at any moment. Toushiro, however, could not help get the feeling that Kurotsuchi was talking in an unnaturally forlorn way which reminded him of the times the crazy scientist let a specimen slip from his fingers or was restrained from dissecting something.

"But it hasn't…died, in any way," he said out loud, frowning slightly. "It's right here."

"Very true, thank you for pointing out the obvious," Kurotsuchi sniffed. "If you could kindly let me finish, a couple of hours after its _initial_ disappearance, it resurfaced on the radar again. However, it was found…in a different location prior to its first appearance. It wasn't very far off, not in a distance that is impossible for either you or I can walk in two hours' time, but it seemed to have concealed itself to do so. Although no such example of a moving matter inconsistent with the rest of our world has been found yet, this one shows irrefutable evidence that it has, or can. It even leaves traces of its reiatsu, faint though it is, in its nearest vicinity that cannot be detected by this, but was once sensed by a search group! From what I can draw up from its behavior and the description of the members of the dispatched group (who wasn't even competent enough to figure out that the strange sense they were feeling was a spiritual presence until they got back. Of course I disciplined them when they did to _make sure _they won't commit such a folly again), the object is almost definitely a living being, that may have gotten missed or left behind when we moved Karakura city back into its original position in the material world."

Toushiro bit his lip. He could sense that trouble was staring at him in between the eyes.

"But that's impossible. I thought that it was made certain that everything that was in Karakura before it was transferred was _kept_ inside when we transported it back!"

"Nothing is impossible, my small and narrow-minded friend. But I'll have you know that I do not usually miss such small details, if that was what you were implying had happened while you were half conscious with two limbs short. This is just an estimate, albeit an educated one, of my own. It's highly probable that this unfamiliar erupted from a completely different dimension other than earth, as so happens in our shifty world."

Understanding dawned on the younger of them. "It could be from Hueco Mundo. Certainly, although that world has been stripped of its major powers and lies in something akin to chaos right now, it would be imprudent to ignore it."

The scientist nodded. "Correct. So then our dear Captain-commander suggested that although its power seems weak and is not an immediate threat – at the moment – someone of a higher rank should go investigate it." Distaste lined his voice as Kurotsuchi narrowed his eyes, clearly upset that his own subordinates were being taken out of the examination. "And since you, Tenth Division Captain, have not gone on a field mission for so long, and seems to have recovered completely, it's only _natural_ that you should be chosen for this task."

The beeping faltered once, its disturbed rhythm attracting the attention of both captains. The red mark seemed to dim for a moment, before flaring slightly again, and Toushiro may have imagined that its location had shifted a mite. "I see. And I'm just supposed to go out there and seek the presence's origin out, without any aid?"

A shrug was his answer. "We haven't gotten any samples of, well, anything of this unknown form yet, so even if we wanted to direct you we have nothing to work from. Your orders are to find this existence and, if possible, eradicate it from Soul Society. I trust that you have your communicating device with you, and you're welcome to contact the Research Station if you're in need of assistance."

A small, disgruntled sigh escaped from the white haired boy's lips, but as he turned to leave the lab to inform Matsumoto of this, Kurotsuchi called him back.

"Unfortunately, I'm too preoccupied with more pressing matters to dedicate myself on this case further, but frankly, you're also welcome to bring back the subject if you find it, and the Twelfth Division will take on full responsibility from there. We'll even tell the Captain-commander that you were able to terminate it."

Toushiro stopped once, turning his glittering emerald eyes towards the figure basked in the blinking computer light behind him.

"If my orders were to eliminate a possible danger from Soul Society and dispose it elsewhere then I will follow them. No other interference is needed. Good day, Twelfth Division Captain."

- X -

The sun was almost setting, a chilly breeze rocking the tree branches in the outskirts of Rukongai, under a sky which clouds were basked in a golden light. Toushiro twitched his haori around him, his frustration growing as he trudged through the shrubs in the depth of the forest. It had virtually been hours since he had set off from Seireitei, and although with his shunpo it had not been exceptionally far for him to cross the entirety of Rukongai, the searching had gone on long enough. The area which Karakura had been placed was back to its normal appearance, without a grass out of place, and in past missions finding any sort of discord in the peaceful landscape had apparently not been too difficult. But the site was huge, a few hundred acres by estimation, and with nothing at hand that could point him in the right direction of the faint, _moving_ target, Toushiro was growing more and more restless.

He found himself in a meadow once he broke out of the thick cluster of trees, overlooking Rukongai from his vantage point of a hill. The grass grew wild here, as did many other organisms; he was careful to look out for snakes or any other of the sort where he stood. A large forest surrounded him on three sides except somewhere to the west where he could see the open sky, and in the distance, the pure white towers of Seireitei being basked in the golden light.

The slight wind picked up suddenly, rising until Toushiro could not hear anything but its roaring in his ears, and his quiet surroundings responded with equal volume, the shaking of the tree branches of the forest which rimmed the field he currently stood in almost deafening. The long grass that grew to his torso whipped him as they were bent almost double by the force of the gust, and the boy captain raised both arms to protect his face from flying particles of dust and dirt, eyes screwed shut. The back of his robes stuck to his body as the rest billowed in front of him, and he took discontented notice of his hair being ruffled in the same way. The setting winter sun wasn't exactly helping with the coolness that made Toushiro shiver; it beat around him with the breeze that swept over the field.

Carding a hand through his hair irritably, the captain considered going home for the day. In a few hours it was sure to become dark, and although the location was far from the outskirts of Rukongai and the residents should not be out here at this time, instances of rogue Hollows suddenly appearing in these distant places were countless. Besides, the temperature was dropping fast, and although the day had been cold, without the warm sun rays raining on him his teeth were starting to chatter. The reiatsu was too faint to search out anyway, he reasoned to himself, might as well retreat and regroup for tomorrow.

He had turned to go, to the direction the sun was setting in, when something moving near the trees came into his sight. Toushiro froze, frantically searching with his eyes inside the long grass, the darkness within the thicket and his sense of awareness spiked up immediately. A few seconds passed – there, behind the oak with the gnarled root. Something white shifting; too tall to be an animal, and something about the way the colour rippled reminded him of clothes. The boy tensed, crouching low as if the grass could be used as camouflage for his own white haori. A hand silently reached behind his back, feeling for the grip of Hyourinmaru. There was silence in the meadow.

Then the white thing moved, and Hyourinmaru was half out of his sheath before Toushiro realized that the figure – he could see it was human, now that it was out of the dimness – was stumbling, collapsing exhaustedly at the feet of the oak. Toushiro hesitated once, before hastily approaching the stranger, concern and wariness battling each other within him.

"Hey," he said softly, as he swept away the last of the long grass that obstructed his way and hurrying to the fallen figure which lay on his front. But that was as far as he got before his breath hitched and he could do nothing but stare, mouth still agape and beginning to form his next words.

He recognized that silver hair, so similar to his own. And those high cheeks. Those eyes which looked permanently shut to the rest of the world. That mouth which for all its crudeness and mischief, always curved into an elegant smile that set his heart beating faster.

Ichimaru Gin should be dead. He should have vanished as spiritual particles into the rest of Soul Society. Met his maker by the hands of Aizen.

And not by Toushiro, despite how many times he had vowed to do so before he went to sleep every night.

Time seemed to have stopped. Not a thing moved in the field or the forest or the sky, and it was just the boy and the toppled man at that moment.

The man who looked so alike to Ichimaru was wearing tattered robes, and Toushiro recognized them as the clothes he had been wearing on that day – though they were tattered and decidedly ruined, missing an arm and a leg in the cloth so that his stuck out, pale flesh grubby in the retreating sunlight. His face, or half of it which could be seen, was also streaked with dirt, scratched and tired-looking, and his hair didn't have the same silky texture or look, but was instead rather matted and stringy in places. He was also out cold.

But there was no doubt in Toushiro's mind that this was Ichimaru, his Ichimaru, who he didn't have time to say farewell properly during the battle, who he could only stare at defiantly between enemy lines as they faced off, unlike how stories were supposed to turn out between two star-crossed lovers. He couldn't even be there to see his demise, and the news of how it came to be reached him via Matsumoto, and he could only sit, shell-shocked, in that makeshift medical stand, too stunned to actually notice his vice-captain's own agonized expression and comfort her.

Perhaps the fact that he had not actually been there lead to his extended disbelief that Ichimaru was dead, and there was a time he had withdrawn into denial so much that he hadn't realized it until Matsumoto said to him one day, _"Captain…please, stop it."_, with such a pained voice. He snapped out of it after that.

And yet, here he stood, looking down on the sleeping figure of the man he thought had sacrificed himself, and only wonder could creep into his heart. Had Matsumoto been mistaken? Had he been lied to? But no, that wasn't possible. There was no way the Gotei Thirteen would overlook anything linked to a traitor.

But then again, no officials had been present except for Matsumoto at the time. So maybe, if she had a cause – if she thought that Ichimaru would be able to go free if she told them he had deceased…but Toushiro found that he couldn't believe that either. She wasn't the type, and he had seen firsthand how she had spent her days in grief for weeks after the battle.

All ringing warnings in his head ignored, the boy closed the last of the distance and dropped to his feet. The soil was hard and cold under his knees, and as Ichimaru lay face down on the protruding roots that were lifted distinctively from the ground, he was almost eye level with the body. Slowly, breathlessly, Toushiro reached out, shaking fingertips hovering over the sleeping head. They brushed a strand of hair, and Toushiro felt something in his chest hitch.

Matsumoto had not known that he and Ichimaru… or at least, she was not supposed to. But then he recalled the knowing smile she always had when she associated his tired sigh in the morning and occasional rub at the hips with the smugger-than-usual aura her friend since childhood emitted after weekends, and the way she enthusiastically ushered them to sit together at the restaurant "to get to know each other better" during drinking parties between the captains and their vice captains, and the consideration she occasionally showed in falling behind or pretending to take interest in something else when the two met and talked through the corridors. And the way she watched over him quietly, without ever voicing her own misery when the betrayal of three captains was discovered. And how she had been unusually disinterested with his affiliation with Kurosaki Ichigo, and had not been the normal excited bundle of hyperactivity and girl-forced him into meeting with the savior of Soul Society more. Almost as if she knew that things were moving on far too quickly for her captain, who was feeling like he would never move on again.

Ichimaru had been precious to her too. And that was more incentive for his carrying on with life than his own grief could ever have been.

He saw it all coming undone now, however, when he finally rested his palm on the man's cheek, softly running it down to his chin, then neck, and checking for a pulse. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the dirty face, which looked too tender and unaware than it ever did when Ichimaru was awake. So when the eyes slowly opened at his touch, revealing icy, glazed irises, he could only keep staring, watching with detached fascination as the man he had loved and hated came to.

* * *

><p><strong>And yes, I will continue dropping these author's notes because they give me something to do – at least until I can think up of one of those cool signature things other authors which actually has a sense of literature and the art of getting across the meaning with less words have.<strong>

**Bleach the Musical is playing until the 31st here, I think – I usually just wait until someone uploads on Youtube because I'm such a poor kid XP and because I miss the original cast. TsuchixNagayan foreva!**


	3. Call

**I might have to go into hiding for a month after this because for some reason teachers **_**always**_** decide to hand out homeworks and reports and essays due in around the same time, although they swear they don't hold secret conferences deciding these things in an attempt to make our lives miserable or anything. And when I say a month, it usually means about four to six. But hey, I'll try, because you people give me so much encouragement – mostly in the form of reviews, thanks very much – which just gets my usually lazy brain to do **_**some **_**exercise and dislodge this permanent writer's block that got wedged in there sometime during middle school. I bet it had something to do with exams.**

**And now for some shameless self-promotional stuff. For those who hadn't read it yet, there's this story called "Bearing Redemption" I wrote off the top of my head one MIDNIGHT because of something very long and complicated that you'd get if you read the author's note on **_**that**_** fic. Basically it's a "What if Aizen never existed and instead it was Toushiro in his place that did all those things?" story, and the reason I'm asking for more recognition – not that this story gets much attention, but I can't blame anybody except for myself with my writing and rambling and infrequent updates… - is because I'm still contemplating if it should be a oneshot or no. I **_**do **_**have some ideas, just probably not enough at the moment, so yeah…depends on how much dear sweet REVIEWS my equally dear and sweet and precious few readers can kindly offer me *winkwinkwink***

**Also, I'm putting this in the M-section because of some advice I received which really made sense – that when people see GinHitsu, they usually think of, well, smut, and I can **_**do **_**that, and I **_**did **_**promise to make my first fics of a fandom a M, so there. This makes things definite. Although I have no idea if there will be any lemon or lime in the near future, seeing as I'm mostly going with the flow as well as trying to keep the flow actually **_**going**_**. But I'll do my best. Fueled by REVIEWS, of course!**

* * *

><p>They finally managed to shake Ichigo off when Toushiro reproachfully told him that it was late, his family would be worried, a student shouldn't be wandering out in such a dangerous place as an alley anyway, and when that didn't work, that it would be a long story. It took some time and a lot of persuasion, but he agreed to back off when he saw how weary the boy was looking, and when Toushiro promised to tell him everything the next day. A time and place was quickly discussed before they parted ways; Ichigo kept throwing suspicious glares at the back of Gin's head, who tagged along obediently behind Toushiro as they made their own way through the twisting streets.<p>

They slipped out of the narrow alley and onto a deserted road, stars twinkling in the black night sky but hardly visible because of a street lamp shining brighter overhead. The two said nothing to each other; in the silence between them, a dog barking somewhere deeper in the residential neighborhood sounded faintly. It was Gin who finally spoke, his voice soft and barely above a low murmur that seemed to melt into the night around them.

"He's gone." Toushiro could feel the slit eyes focused on the back of his head, and winced inwardly as he understood what Gin was waiting for.

"Yeah," was his short reply, and he hesitated, totally at loss at what to do.

Stillness reigned again apart from the sound of their footsteps, until Gin seemed to decide to make a move.

"Is it too much," his voice had not changed his volume or tone, but the words somehow urged a heavy feeling to blossom in Toushiro's chest, "Ta want the full story?"

The boy stopped, as did his partner; like a shadow, Gin was always mimicking his movements recently. It looked like it had become a habit for the man – without his memories, he was less forthcoming and decisive than he had been before, and had been completely reliant on Toushiro at the very first. He was noticeably quieter and seemed to not have much of an opinion at times, although he was admittedly more open about his feelings and was always gentle towards the boy. Perhaps it was due to this new behavior Toushiro had become accustomed to over the months that the older man's outburst – as gentle as it had been – came as a slight shock to him. He knew, deep in himself, that he could not deny Gin any knowledge that would come between them, but he had hoped…

Shaking his head, Toushiro sucked in a deep breath through his teeth and turned to look up at Gin. "I'm truly sorry," he started, trying desperately to read what the man was thinking in his never changing expression. Even in this form, his lover was exceptionally hard to read. "I really didn't mean to keep things hidden. I was just searching for the right time, but I admit I ended up procrastinating …"

He sighed in defeat, knowing it was for the best if he was truthful about everything to the quiet, waiting man. He knew Gin would understand if he explained thoroughly – he didn't know if it was pure instinct or by habit, but like the Ichimaru before, Gin seemed to have the ability to see through most people simply by looking at them. He could tell what drove humans onwards to their goals, although it was rare for him to share the knowledge, and what hurt them the deepest, what they treasured, and most of all, when and what was troubling Toushir when they were alone. Yet the boy genius could tell that deeper within himself that there was something larger preventing him from speaking up every time he worked up the courage to break it to the man, a greater fear that paralyzed his muscles and lungs and forced him to clamp down on his tongue and look away. There was no getting away now, however – Toushiro could never refuse Gin when he was being stared down like this, and he could almost see the questions and mild hurt and suspicion swimming in the orbs behind those eyelids, waiting to burst out.

"It's just…people don't come back from the dead every day," he said, eyes uneasily darting to and from Gin's own. His tongue felt rough and thick, the inside of his mouth and chapped lips impossibly dry. "And everything always seemed to be happening so fast these days. We had to get you out of Soul Society before anybody else even found a sign of your existence, and I had to make arrangements with work, and – I couldn't know who to trust and in the end there was no one apart from you and me, and – and I know I seem crazy but my life before wasn't exactly stable without you. I was so – just so _confused_ for a while, I needed you and you couldn't be there. And you _had_ been there, for many years," his voice and eyes softened at memories of forever ago, back to the streets of Rukongai, back when he had thought Ichimaru as cold and shinigamis as evil, "When you were gone…I realized that I had become almost helpless without you."

He knew his words were tumbling over each other in their rush to get out and bare themselves before the man, but even as he took another deep breath and tried to calm himself, his mind seemed to be stuck on a panic setting, the kind that wound down like a caffeine crash and would leave him in stricken paralysis if he did not keep talking.

"I was scared," he managed, feeling each breath in his lungs and pumping in his heart force his throat to close up and threaten to choke him. Not now, not now, just get this out, it's for his own sake. "I was scared you wouldn't trust me anymore. Because I lost my chance to tell you the truth the first time, and if I did tell you later then you would've had misconceptions about why I looked out for you and yet hauled you between worlds and put you through all of this. I was," shuddering breath in, quaking breath out, "Afraid, that you might leave me. I don't – I don't want that. But I should have known that you have your values set somewhere else than to lose your cool over something like this. I should have trusted you, and I knew that I would have to tell you soon," he allowed a small, nervous laugh slip from him, but immediately felt guilty when Ichimaru only kept staring at him expressionlessly. "I'm sorry. I was scared. I'm _sorry_."

His voice was hardly anything more than a pleading whimper, and Toushiro felt more ashamed than he had had in ten years or so. He had dropped his gaze to the asphalt below their feet sometime during his confession, and this time, he could not work up the courage to lift them and see for himself just how angry or cheated Gin must feel right now. This always happened; the mere thought of Gin leaving him – even when they both knew he had nowhere else to go – hit some sort of button within him, and drew out the worst of the last memory they had been on speaking terms. More specifically, in the chambers of Central 46, with Hinamori bleeding her lifeblood out at his feet and his vision being swathed in red as he released his bankai, and was felled right in front of his indifferent lover. But it was out now, it was too late to take it back, to stuff that smallest doubt he had of Gin into some tiny locked chest in a cramped damp space where nobody, not even he, could find it. Gin knew his weakness, his vulnerable spot, and Toushiro was at his mercy now should he choose to prod and jab at it with just the right words.

He jumped to feel warm hands on his cheeks, running up and down until they finally came to rest just underneath his eyes; as fond fingers swiped at an invisible piece of dust there they tugged at his face, urging him to look up.

"I hope ya haven't forgotten," Gin grinned. "That _I_ was the one who wanted ta come with _ya_."

The younger's face reddened when Gin lowered his head to plant a kiss on his forehead, and the surprising hotness lingered long after he pulled away, smirking. Toushiro reached up to touch the spot, all timidity wiped away by surprise as he fumbled for words.

"You're not mad?" he asked. "You…_really_ want to hear this?"

A noncommittal shrug. "It's partially my fault, ya know, seeing as I never asked. But if what I did hurt ya, like that boy said, at least let me repent fer those things," the man answered. "If yer okay with letting me stay, and if there's anything I can do ta heal ya, then by all means, let me. I want to remember everything, Toushiro," he reached out again, pale blue eyes softening as he stroked the side of the boy's face down to his neck, reveling in its softness, and as he leaned into the touch, "Anything could be a key."

Toushiro breathed out slowly; a cloud of white mist formed between them, dispersing quickly into the night air. "You don't have to remember for me," he muttered, teal orbs sliding half close. "You don't have to rush anything."

Gin's smile grew larger, and then his fingers had slipped from under his lover's chin and had grabbed a smaller hand before the boy could blink. Before Toushiro knew it, he was being pulled forward, and his stumbling feet instinctively followed as the tall man started sprinting before him, hands still joined. They ran through the dark, the quiet streets and down a concrete slope, leaving their troubles behind for now and _ran_, until they came to a road Toushiro recognized and brought a small smile to his own lips. They reached an area enclosed by trees; as they weaved through the gates they came out into a lamp lit playground, at the center of which they stopped. It was the park they could overlook from their rented apartment nearby, and in such a quiet neighbourhood, no hooligans or vagabonds stalked the benches or the corner behind the sandbox. The temperature was below freezing these nights, so nobody sensible was out at this time at such an empty place. Toushiro almost laughed at the thought – he wasn't cold anymore thanks to the run, but it didn't change the fact that a midnight walk probably wasn't the best idea in winter, unless, of course, you were absolutely crazy.

His companion's grin at Toushiro's rosy cheeks probably could have split his face from ear to ear, his breath also coming out in short puffs of silver that rose into nothingness. He pulled themselves closer to each other, wrapping his arms around Toushiro's back, and the boy copied him out of habit, burying his head into the other's chest. They stood like that for a short while, seeking the other's warmth and hiding from the biting frostiness, until Toushiro pulled away suddenly and stood on his toes, barely capturing the surprised fox-face's lips for a kiss.

Gin blinked; it wasn't like Toushiro to be so forthcoming, at least as much as his memories extended, but in any case he ducked slightly to deepen it, earning himself a pleasured whine from the back of the younger's throat. Flicking his tongue at the other's, inviting him to play, they melded into each other in the middle of the abandoned park, lamplight cast and surrounded by the still, icy air. They pulled away once they were out of breath, flushing, but they didn't dare let go of each other.

Gin was the first to open his mouth. "Tell me everything," he insisted. "Ya can't hold onto secrets by yourself, Toushiro. Let me share the load," he encouraged gently. "Let me carry mah own weight."

Toushiro's voice was raspy from the running and the kiss, but he turned large, begging eyes on Gin. "Promise me…promise me you won't gloom over it or wallow in guilt or anything," he said. "It wasn't you who did it. _Remember _that. And you had good final intentions. I'm alright now," he smiled, and it was like the dawn, a shy, stray ray of light slipping from the horizon and casting it's wonder on the world below and leaving his lover dazzled. "Promise me, you idiot."

Gin nodded, clasping his large hands around the small of the other's back. "This was the best midnight rendezvous," he smirked, still so oblivious, still unprepared of what was to come next, "But I wouldn't want ya ta catch somethin' nasty. Let's go inside and ya can tell me the story – the _whole_ story, this time – over some hot coco. Hmm?"

* * *

><p><strong>Rukongai - Early Winter<strong>

What could he do? What was he supposed to feel? A man he had thought he had lost forever had just suddenly appeared before his eyes, bedraggled and barely conscious. For a while, he'd been rooted to the spot, disbelieving of his eyes and almost hyperventilating from the tightness of his chest. Just when he had been so ready to teeter, to fall over the edge and just _weep_ in gladness – it didn't matter that he was not a girl, he was too _happy_, as the realization that he was no longer alone again, too deeply in love – it turns out that he had, in actuality, not gained back as much as he thought. The initial shock had partially worn off, although he still couldn't decide whether to kick the man's arse or sit down and calmly explain things to him, try to find out what _the hell _was going on exactly, so now he was flying through the night, ducking past the sentries and snuffing his reiatsu out; the man he had found needed care, and _he_ needed time to clear his disoriented head; and the only thing he could be certain of at this moment of time was that he was in no state to decide how to deal with this – this supernaturalism, he _needed _the space but couldn't be gone for long.

He remembered babbling nonsense – but only very faintly – as the man gazed at him groggily; having shaken himself out of his reverie as he fully comprehended the amount of damage the figure seemed to have taken, although on closer inspection nothing remotely serious could be found, Toushiro was frantic, too worried about the man's state before actually thinking through the events and situation. It was only after the older opened his mouth and spoke – asked his name – that he recalled freezing, glad to have already been on his knees to support the dazed fox-face, because all the energy in his body was rapidly being sucked out and leaving him a ragdoll. When the fact that Ichimaru was without his memories registered in his mind, something within him snapped, and although confusion still raged somewhere in the back of his head and battled with tearful fury and incredulousness, Captain Hitsugaya started to show a little more of himself, and dully noted that the Ichimaru before him was currently shivering and whining loudly for food.

Yes, he still couldn't believe it. Yes, he knew this posed many problems for Soul Society. But he was in charge right now, in charge of this mission, and what to do with Ichimaru, so before any of the rest of the Gotei could get a word in with his decisions, he was to act appropriately and responsibly. Besides, he was never really good at sharing.

Toushiro just wished this side of him _stayed_ firm and unwavering before Ichimaru, but the worrying part was that in the entirety of his history with the man, he couldn't remember one instance when it had worked.

- X -

The stars were out by the time Toushiro managed to get back to the meadow, his arms full with some supplies he had nicked from his own division's emergency shelter, and a great black coat. He was half paranoid that the man he had found - whom after a long internal debate the small captain had instructed to STAY PUT - had wandered off again in to the night. When the tuft of silver came into sight within the grass after one frantic scan, he breathed a small sigh of relief, before sucking it back in reflexively when he managed to comprehend the scene properly.

The man - Gin - was simply sitting crossed-legged (not that Toushiro could see that, the grass was tall and thick enough to obstruct the view below his neck), in his tattered white robes that were as stark as his pale visage in the dark, head tilted up to gaze at the stars. Toushiro was momentarily entranced - there was no way around this feeling, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene even if he wanted to. He hesitated to move - his feet would not listen to him - and for a while the two were simply shrouded in the peaceful, almost vigilant, silence, until the man seemed to spot him out of the corner of his eye, and turned to him smiling.

"Ya took a bit," he called across the dark field, not making any motion to move as he watched Toushiro blink himself back to his senses.

The boy swallowed. "Ye-yeah," he replied. He was standing in the shadow of the trees that surrounded them, blocking the light from the full moon, so he stepped away, and started to weave his way through the thick grass. "Sorry, um, for keeping you. I needed some time to get thes-"

He halted, startled, when a shoving motion unleashed a small bulb of light to float in the air before him. More followed the first into the night air, and Toushiro was soon shrouded by a small cloud of fireflies, illuminating his face faintly and wavering in a pair of large, teal orbs. For some reason, Toushiro couldn't collect himself enough to go forward and brush them away. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice reasoned he was tired and the recent events had made him confused.

He had no idea how he had managed to not notice the rustling until it was right beside him. Next thing he knew, there was a large, warm presence at his side. "I managed ta keep mahself entertained," a low voice whispered next to his ear. "After all, I had mah own personal stars, dancing so freely ya'd feel drawn into joining them, right down here."

Feeling the heat in his cheeks rise as he felt the hot breath on the side of his face, so in contrast with the cold of early winter, Toushiro whipped around, gaping slightly when he found Gin bent right over him and watching him closely. His smile, just a little less guarded and mocking than he remembered it to be, widened at the boy's less than composed stature. He looked like he would have liked to comment more, if only to see that porcelain skin flush at his words.

But Toushiro was already pulling himself together, coughing lightly and shrugging off the embarrassment. "I didn't know you had anything that resembles a dreamy streak in you," he remarked, before roughly thrusting the bundle in his arms into Gin's chest. "Here."

"What, the me ya knew before didn't indulge in charming pastimes like nature watching?" Gin asked teasingly, taking the offered assorted goods. "How on earth did I keep mahself from dying of boredom?"

His companion decided to refrain from explaining the finer points of dying and living on afterwards, which apparently lead to dying someday and turning up looking like a tramp with no reliable memory intact. "You enjoyed watching people, if I recall," he replied hesitantly. "You liked examining their reactions when they get caught in one of your," he sniffed, "Practical jokes."

A low chuckle, as the man knelt in the grass to carefully lay out the newly delivered supplies. "Now _that_ sounds more like it." He paused, holding up the hooded coat that Toushiro had used to wrap everything else up in a hurry. It was almost twice the length of the boy, and clearly not his. "Just what I needed," he grinned, shrugging it on without further preamble and nestlings contently in its warmth. "Thank you."

Toushiro shifted on his feet. "It was the only thing I could find that fit you. Everything else you owned was taken away for investigation, or burned... You'd left that in my room last New Year, and I forgot to give you it back." The last part was mumbled, but the man only glanced at him with unbridled amusement dancing in his expression. In truth, the Tenth Captain had stored it away safely into the depth of his closet once winter had passed that year, hiding it away from any visitors and lying to Ichimaru when he asked about it. When the work days drew long or when Ichimaru was out on a mission for a prolonged period, he had brought it out to sling it over his shoulders in his room, breathing in the lingering smell because it relaxed him. He had not touched it in a while for the slimmest chance that someone might see him with it, and if they had not been informed any better, there would be trouble if they were able to make some kind of connection.

The coat fit him well, Toushiro thought with grudging admiration, as the dark material was lifted slightly by a breeze and the silver haired figure looked like some sort of mysterious creature of the night, cloaked in an aura of darkness and secrecy. The tattered remains of what used to be white boots stood out a little, but as long fingers did up the two parallel rows of buttons dotting down his torso, the simple coat hugged his slim frame and broad shoulders tightly, accessorizing his silhouette and drawing all attention to his upper body. Toushiro looked away as Gin adjusted his sleeves, trying to fight off the blush that threatened to occupy his face up to his ears again. He _hated_ feeling like this, like some sort of girl stealing glances at her first crush, unable to work up the courage to even look him in the eyes.

"Food!" Gin's exclamation forced him to look up, the unfamiliarly enthusiastic tone sounding so foreign to his ears. As far as he knew, Ichimaru never expressed excitement over such a petty matter. But this Gin pounced on the emergency supplies littered on the dirt like a starving wolf, seizing a packet of stale crackers and greedily wrenching the wrapper off. He might as well have not eaten for days, which, Toushiro surmised, may not be too far from the truth.

Hurrying to the older man's side, he pulled out his own water carrier and offered it to Gin, struggling to keep from smirking at the sight of his face covered in crumbs. Gin downed it in something like a single gulp.

"Yer a real saviour," he said sincerely, turning back to the remainder of the tasteless, dry food. "I don't remember the last time I ate. Wanna bite?"

With a quick shake of his head, the boy squatted next to him, balancing on the balls of his feet and propping his head up with his arms. "You don't remember how you got here?" he asked softly. "Nothing at all?"

"For the thousandth time, I don't half remember what I'd been _doing_ till I saw ya," Gin replied, as creases formed between his brows. "It's all foggy...all I can find in mah head are pictures of the forest, feeling tired even as I drag mah feet onwards, for God knows what ...I s'ppose that must be how it feels ta sleepwalk."

He looked up, straight at Toushiro, crumbs around his face and a bit of dirt Toushiro had missed earlier while wiping him peeking from underneath his fringe. "But like I said, when I saw ya...it felt like a fog in mah head was clearing, and I could feel mah limbs, my senses awakening. I felt like...like I didn't have ta walk anymore, ya know?" A quiet laugh at Toushiro's disbelieving face. "Like I'd found just what mah spirit's been yearning fer all this time."

He trailed off, eyes never leaving the petite captain beside him. The air was silent save for the crickets in the grass, and the sky, so whole and clear and perfect, seemed to twinkle just that much in the cool tranquility. In that moment, it was just like old times – there was no one in this world apart from them, two souls together on a distant, open land, overlooking the far away shadow that was Rukongai, and even farther, the towers of Seireitei. Only the heavens were the witness to their existence, to their relationship – and the idea was heartbreaking because of one, little truth.

"Why would you say that?"

It was asked in a hushed voice, so discreet that it could have melted into the blackness of the field, drifted off into the breeze and yonder. Gin however, sitting in close capacity, saw his lips move under the shadow cast by his apparently gravity-defying hair and caught the soft words in the wind.

"Because it's true," he told the boy, matter-of-factly. "Ya keep me grounded. With ya, I feel more like mahself...whoever I might have been," Gin chuckled slightly.  
>Toushiro seemed preoccupied, for he stayed silent and kept his gaze lowered. Concerned, Gin reached out to him, and didn't relent when a small flinch escaped the taut body when he touched him.<p>

His cheeks were warm, Gin surmised, as he rested his full palm on the side of the small, white face. He'd expected them to be clammy from the cold, but perhaps it was because of his own cool hands, for they felt almost scorching now. He noticed that the boy's breath was coming in small laboured pants, as teal eyes were hidden behind scrunched eyelids.

"No," he heard, and Toushiro was trying very, very weakly to tear himself away. "Do you know – _how_ much I tried to rid myself of the notion that you actually wanted me? I thought – you didn't – you never –"

But he couldn't say the next words, because Gin was looking at him with such an innocent, puzzled look on his face, and the last thing he needed was for that expression to crumble – he knew he couldn't keep himself living in a dream, but just for now, just for now he could be allowed to run away from the truth–

"Why wouldn't I want ya?" Gin asked, slightly confused. Yet Toushiro had clamped down, eyes screwed tight and biting down on his tongue, shaking his head so frantically the taller wondered, very briefly, if it would be for the better to pursue further. He yielded this time, though, because he could see that the boy in his arms was in distress, and his primal instinct was to soothe out those lines between his brows and coax him to relax.

Gin gently took Toushiro's face in both hands, bringing his own a little closer. Smiling wider when the smaller one opened his clear, exotic eyes wide in surprise as they stared into hidden blue ones, he spoke slowly, as though repeating phrases to a child. "Ya are beautiful ta me."

The blush slammed fully into Toushiro, and there was no hiding it now, but thin arms grasped Gin's wrist and forced him away roughly.

"Don't do this to me," he cringed at his own voice, raspy with the effort of keeping in words that should not be said, that cannot be said. "Please don't do this to me. You have no idea – NO idea what I have to do and what I want to–"

But his grip had slackened, like his resolve had a few hours ago, despite the sudden desperate light in his eyes. Too many possibilities flashed through his mind, risks he refused to take even when the chance was dangled right before his nose.

"You can't persuade me to stay with you. You are not supposed to _trust_ me, Gin," and his first name even took Toushiro by surprise; he had hardly ever allowed himself to say it during their time together, let alone afterwards when it morphed naturally into a taboo for not only him, but also for the rest of Seireitei. Nevertheless, it was like a sweet drop on his tongue, rolling with the bitterness in his mouth and bringing a small, but almost negligible relief. "We can't be together," he half whispered, trying so hard to force the regrets and second thoughts that welled in his heart down.

"I thought we used ta be, though?" Gin asked insistently, a brow rising in slight surprise at the boy's mounting anguish. He was being persistent – there were many things he didn't understand, but perhaps that was what made him that much more determined to cling onto what he was aware of. "At least, that's what I gathered from yerself earlier. And, well," He offered a mischievous smile, almost seemingly oblivious to Toushiro's dilemma. "I can't make mahself believe that I'd leave a pretty one like ya alone."

"This is not a joke," the younger boy snapped. He could feel cold sweat on the back of his neck. Rising from his haunches, he backed a few steps away from Gin, arms coming to wrap around his middle protectively as he glared down at the former captain. "You don't get it. There are people here – shinigami – who don't think favourably of you. I need to ... You could – you could easily be a faux. You could be part of another one of Aizen's plots – only a fool will believe a dungeon would keep him quiet. You are supposed to be _dead_! _I'm_ having a hard time wrapping this around my head. The others will not even try to dredge up the patience."

He squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He knew he was just stressed, but a headache was starting up on top of everything and suddenly he just felt _exhausted_. Toushiro couldn't bring himself to be truly elated that Gin, although his memory was a blank slate, had somehow managed to find his way back to him, because it meant that a whole new list of things to worry about had been added. And _just _when he thought he had overcome his grief, came to terms with the unfairness of the world, saw that there had been no other way it could have ended and would not let himself otherwise. He could not fathom why the man would show up as a reiatsu not of this world on Kurotsuchi's radar, and even then he could only suspect that Gin _was _the unidentified matter because it could hardly be a coincidence. Gin hungry meant that he hadn't lost his reiatsu, and although Shinsou didn't appear to be present for some reason, if he posed even the smallest threat to Soul Society the majority of the captains would not waste a second to put him down. And while Toushiro balked at the thought, he could not see any other option for this situation to evolve, unless he could convince Gin to evade civilization for his long, endless time in Soul Society.

...In Soul Society...

For a moment, a wild, crazy thought flashed across his mind. Toushiro frowned. In Soul Society, at least, anything he might need would be at his disposal, although it came with a cost. Gin might need medical attention if his memory loss somehow connected in all of this – along with his existence, of course – and Unohana may or may not be persuaded into taking a look before turning him in. If he truly was sent to help Aizen escape and continue with his crazed version of world domination then the dungeons would have to be checked, something that could not be accomplished without notifying the new Central 46 with a full explanation ready. Gin was a bomb that would rock Soul Society again just waiting to go off. And Toushiro could either deliver it to the heart of its target or defuse it.

But he was running out of time. His co-workers could brush off his absence as his being a workaholic as usual, but he was sure that if the Twelfth Division was watching their radar now (and he _knew_ that Kurotsuchi had somehow managed to get a hold of samples of his reiatsu to add to their database so that he would show up on their locators too) and saw him at a stalemate with the unknown object, they would most certainly get concerned. The longer they stayed like this, the more difficult it would be to explain his way out, or worse, keep them off Gin if they decide to come "offer their assistance". Kurotsuchi might even design a new kind of giant test tube to cork Gin in, if Soi Fon's onmitsukido didn't sniff something out first. He needed to produce results fast.

And it was with that chilling feeling he had running down his spine that Toushiro finally realized that he _really_ didn't like the idea of Gin in the merciless hands of the older man was watching him silently, expressionlessly, quite unperturbed by Toushiro's little outburst and munching on a ration slowly. For all he knew, Ichimaru may still have been using him for the pleasure and stress relief while plotting Aizen's downfall with only Marsumoto's safety in mind. In the dead man's eyes, Toushiro may have been nothing but a playtoy, a little stupid child who was so oblivious to the truth and provided too much entertainment with his volatile, easily manipulatable emotions. The thought made his blood boil and him to scream and cry at the same time, but the Gin in front of him was not that person. Gin needed him now. Gin _wanted_ him. And although a small voice within Toushiro warned him shrilly that this was all too good – and he shouldn't even be thinking that it was good, he was a failure as a captain – to be true; that he had been so easily tricked before; that he should be aware of any further deception especially ones as badly cloaked as this – although alarm bells were ringing in his head, he knew he could do nothing except push them deeper inside him until it was nothing but a nagging annoyance. Toushiro rubbed at his face, breathing out slowly from the nose.

"If – and take this _seriously_, now – if I said that I would take you somewhere far off, somewhere completely different from here, where you would have to learn the main rules of the world from square one, and told you that you'd have to more or less live in hiding, what would you do?"

Gin cocked his head to one side, thinking, and the familiar action made Toushiro want to choke.

"Will ya come with me?" he asked abruptly, after a moment, voice suddenly subtly deeper, a hint of a purr lying underneath. It sent electric jolts down Toushiro's spine, but he did his best to try and glare a hole in the middle of Gin's forehead.

"I told you to take this seriously," he snarled. "We don't have time for your messing about. We need to decide _now_, unless you want to be practically thrown at the execution block if they capture you–"

"Then why don't ya let them?" There was only genuine curiosity in the man's words, spoken softly, but they rang heavily in Toushiro's ears. "Why would ya go so far as ta protect me and not be willing ta go all the way? I have no idea what I'm supposed ta be running from, Toushiro," his tone was silky and his face was gentle, and if he hadn't already had Toushiro in his clutches he couldn't possibly escape now, "And I want ta remember ya. I want to learn more about you, and – if it's alright, I want ta take care of ya too."

His lines were not more awkward than cheesy, and they sounded ridiculous, but the utter feeling in them, the sincerity Toushiro had never been quite accustomed to even before, struck something inside of him. It felt so long – _so long_ – since the last time he unwittingly allowed someone into his mind; yes, it was the same person nonetheless but it didn't really matter. He knew he had to be the strong one now, he had to get them moving as quickly as possible, but suddenly he was immobilized after hearing those words fall from the older man's lips. How did he always know…? How come Toushiro always felt so bare and exposed in front of him, and how could he feel glad for it now?

It was suddenly very hard to breathe, and his throat felt like it was closing up. The boy couldn't suppress the thin film of moisture collecting below his eye, and his every word was painful to say and required so much effort, as he finally, finally started to crack.  
>"Why would you say that," he forced out. "What makes you think I need care? I should be the one–"<p>

The man smiled up at him, too knowingly and yet so welcomingly, as he stated what he obviously thought to be the most evident fact in the world at that moment.

"Ya look like yer about ta cry," Gin pointed out gently. "Come here."

And from his seat on the ground, between the thrushes of grass taller than his head, underneath the jewel-littered sky, Gin Ichimaru held his arms open to the boy captain, inviting him into his warmth. Toushiro shook his head, lips buttoned tight, even as his legs itched to move and something hot and wet threatened to spill from his eyes. He briefly wondered exactly what kind of expression he must have been wearing to have warranted such an action from the man, when, with an exasperated sigh, he rose slightly from his position and grabbed Toushiro's thin wrist with his own long fingers, pulling him into his chest. Toushiro collapsed headfirst, half in and half out of Gin's lap, and at the first sensation of the thick, wooly coat on the skin of his cheeks he felt the tears start to spill. After that everything was awhirl for the boy; he remembered abandoning all caution to the wind and crying freely into the man's chest, uncaring if his face was messed up or if he was sniveling like a small child or if large wet splotches were forming on the fabric below him. He took great, hiccuping breaths, leaning into the soothing touch of the silver-haired man as he rubbed circles onto his back and murmured incoherent things in his deep, smooth voice. Toushiro never noticed the front of the coat opening, only sought for more contact in the briefest moments he was pulled away just a little, nestling into the warmth he found on Gin's bare skin as he was let close again and the heavy material enveloped the both of them.

For a while they just sat together like that, under the coat, Toushiro curled up on Gin's crossed legs, both of their arms around the other, so tightly they may as well have been clinging on to their only lifeline, the boy's nose buried in the nape of the older's neck. He breathed in the scent of smoke and the sweetness of grass, absorbing the radiating warmth as it seeped through his skin. The low rumbling noise Gin was making in the back of his throat struck him reminiscent of a man who was not here anymore, but the mere presence of the sound comforted his grief and simply _let_ him lie in the calm of the ocean in his heart for the first time in months. He cracked his eyes open just in time to catch a small light hovering in the corner of one of them, as fireflies danced their last dance of the year before settling in their final, deep slumber. They were truly alone, two figures clutching at each other desperately under the endless sky, feeling only the other's existence and hearing only their breathing. Although his eyes had not dried yet, and his breath still came in uneven hitches, Toushiro reluctantly tried to pull away, feeling decidedly warmth and who was he to seek the comfort of a complete stranger? Because even though the similarity was obviously far more than coincidental, this Gin was not _his_.  
>But long arms were not letting him go, as they wound around his back and a large hand pushed his head back to the crook underneath the older man's chin.<p>

"You've been lonely," Gin murmured. "I'm here. 'm here."

Toushiro rested back against the solid body before him, too tired to fight back, letting Gin's voice wash over him and allowed the tautness in his muscles to slip away. Gin cradled him in his lap and rocked back and forth a little, and for once the boy captain didn't mind being treated like something fragile.

A hot breath brushed above his ear, and he sighed back contentedly in return.

"Let's run away together," and he could almost hear the stupid grin on the fox-face's face, and would have swatted him if he wasn't so ready to nod off to sleep. "Let's go somewhere nobody knows about us, and start over."

Starting over sounds nice, he thought sleepily, and unconsciously he made a sound that he knew Gin would take as an affirmative, but it didn't matter, nothing really mattered right now, as he felt his eyelids drooping and nestled closer to the man.

Just a couple of minutes. But he was so tired. Maybe an hour, like this.

The world could wait until the sun rose.

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><p><strong>By the way, "Call" by Regina Spektor is such a beautiful song. I heard it on Prince Caspian and haven't stopped searching karaoke machines for it ever since.<strong>

**Oh God, what do I do now? *shakes a magic meatball***

**REVIEWS, pretty please~ Think of it like signing a petition that supports the GinHitsu ship, and we all know that they deserve SO much more appreciation, right? RIGHT? So click the button~!**

**And I'm rereading Naruto again (Hello? Homework?) and I can't stop crying at Haku and Zabuza's part. Stupid Edo Jutsu thingy. But Haku looked so happy when he learnt that Zabuza cared for him…d'aww.**


	4. Perspective

**I recently found out that songs from Kutless are very much to my tastes :D**

**Riiight...it hasn't been a week since I last updated, but this one has been sleeping on my ipod for a pretty long time now. The second half _could _have meant to be a oneshot, but it fit too well with what I wanted to do in this story, so here it is! I like to think of the first bit as a little insight on Gin's mind, and the second a view on how Toushiro had _really_ been coping with the events before Gin's death.**

**On a side note:**

**It was my parent's wedding anniversary yesterday, and they took me and my sister to this restaurant I still cannot make up my mind if it was French or Italian. I dread to think what will have to happen when I'm old enough to earn my own money and have to treat _them_. But still, the food was AWESOME *drool***

**Rest In Peace Mr Jobs. I had to authorize my new laptop to iTunes yesterday and to do that, I needed to put in my Apple ID. Next to the box you're supposed to put it in, there is an example - steveme. I almost cried. Then again, my friend sent me this via Facebook to cheer me up. ratherdielaughing(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/11138165698**

**Also! Happy Birthday Mr Lennon! And, um, yeah, RIP to you too. I can't make any witty remarks (not that I had to, or that I can if I tried...) because it's five-effin-AM here, and my internal clock is never going to set itself right on time for Monday. I mean, Tuesday. My country should have three-day weekends more. Whee.**

**Read & Review! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE-**

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><p>Gin was woken by the sun streaming from the window, beating down on his face. That in itself was unusual, seeing as neither he nor Toushiro drew the curtains open until they were both awake, but he was still bleary and drained from last night's events. The silver-haired man rolled to the left, feeling for the other, smaller body in the bed with him, but when he was met with empty air, Gin was finally forced to open his eyes.<p>

The bed beside him was cold and hard, although it had been made and was as impeccably tidy as ever. Gin looked at it for a moment through his slit eyes, before remembering that Toushiro was meeting with that child they had met yesterday, the one who was brash as his outlook and louder than his hair. Slowly, the recollections of later on started surfacing and collecting in his head, and he winced as the truth he had no memories of had been slowly revealed. In all honesty, he couldn't really blame the boy for trying to fight him after what he had been through.

The ticking of the clock on the bedside cabinet was loud in the silence, and Gin stared forlornly up at the bare ceiling. Toushiro had bundled him off to bed afterwards, when the man was too much in shock to move his feet. He had spent the rest of the night being clasped in the younger's grip, breathing in the smell of mint in his hair as smaller fingers threaded through his own. Chaste kisses, apologetic and desperate to comfort, and murmured words telling him to not mind about the past, that it was all over, and it had not been him anyway. It had not been him, it had not been him.

Yet as much as Gin had tried so fiercely to believe, it _had_ been him, _his _face which had lied to and hurt and broken that delicate, sweet, tiny thing (although Toushiro himself would protest vehemently to all of those, ESPECIALLY the last one) and he could not shake the notion that Toushiro wanted something in return for all his nurturing and patience. An apology, perhaps. Or, more likely, just proof that the Ichimaru he had known had not been a facade, and was clinging onto that hope that when some of his memories had returned, Gin could tell him.

Gin sat up, shook his head. It was wrong to think of Toushiro like that, he berated himself. Since the moment he had come to in that field under the blood red sky, the boy had been nothing but loving, if slightly clumsy sometimes, to him. Gin enjoyed eliciting amusing reactions from him because Toushiro was just so _expressive_at times, and at first, even the slightest caresses or ticklish touches had been enough to make him jump. As months passed, however, they grew used to each other's presence, and they fit together far more satisfyingly than Gin had imagined - and, surprisingly, as Toushiro had as well. The occasional warm, honest smile Gin caught directed his way was enough to make somewhere in the back of his mind tingle, and if only Toushiro would let him, tempt his hands to roam further to unknown territories.

He discarded the idea that Toushiro blamed him for the misfortune he had met months prior to his awakening. It wouldn't please the boy and only make him more concerned, and there was time to talk over it later.

The floorboards were so cold it almost hurt to set his bare feet down on them after having hogged the blankets for so long, and Gin suppressed a shiver as he made his way out of the bedroom. He had to quell the urge to bring the blankets with him, because Toushiro was such an immaculately neat person and would have a near seizure if he learnt that the older had dragged bedding items across the floor. The apartment was empty and quiet, as expected, but a steaming kettle of ginger tea was left on the gas burner in the kitchen. Gin took a cup of it gratefully, and curled up with it on the sofa in the conjoined living room.

Stacks of books were piled in towers here and there, because they didn't have a proper bookshelf yet and the number had become too great to fit them all in a box. Gin reached out to a random pile and took the first book on top before settling. Toushiro himself was an avid reader and some of them had come from his own library, but Gin absorbed knowledge like a sponge. Without his lover there was not much to see in the town – nothing caught his attention if the white haired boy wasn't there to experience it with him – but there was much to learn about the world he had once lost in the books. Maybe Toushiro just knew the best ones, and handpicked them to suit Gin's preferences. Or perhaps it was the constant, strong desire to get even closer to the boy by reading what he had read, as if following footprints in sand, that allowed him to plough through any kind of genre the smaller one offered. Whatever the reason, Gin found himself spending most of his waking hours without Toushiro delving into the stack of books that kept growing, as he didn't spend much time outside anyway. Besides, Toushiro was paranoid that a _something_he could not see because he was human would try to attack him without the captain's protection, so that was that.

Gin paused. It wasn't like he had anything better to do outside than in, and he understood where Toushiro was coming from. He liked it better to be alone with the boy, because learning about his lover was more important to him than the rest of the world, quite virtually. It was just that sometimes, the brief, treacherous thought that crossed his mind made him wonder what he should actually be feeling right now, at the boy's beck and call, unable to move freely without his eye on him. If Toushiro had kept his past from him – although he _said_it had been for the best for Gin – what else could he be hiding?

It was with something like despair welling in his heart that Gin tore himself away from that track of thought, _again_, and opened the book. All he wanted was for Toushiro to be happy. And if he had no particular qualms about the life he was leading right now, why bother searching for any?

Gin took a sip from the steaming cup. The flavour flooded his senses and spilled over his tongue, warming his whole body as he swallowed it. He wished Toushiro would come back soon. In the silent apartment, he could almost imagine whispers of bodiless voices, mocking him with the mentions of the crimes he had committed, blaming him for the hurt he had caused. He tried to ignore them, remembering the promise he had made with Toushiro the night before, but knew that was one of those things easier said than done now.

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><p><strong>Seireitei - Summer<strong>

The light seeped in between the white blinds of the special private ward in the Fourth Division, casting it's brilliance on the white interior, accompanied by the chirping of birds heralding a new morning. Toushiro sat in the bed right below the window, tons of mountains of get well cards and flowers and the occasional sweets spilling from his bedside table. Those that had not been tucked previously beneath his pillow were rudely shoved off the side to make room for a tray with water and some pills. The boy captain was, to match the room, swathed in white, wearing a loose long sleeved gown and sitting up underneath rumpled sheets. In between the opening of the gown at his chest peered thick bandages wrapped all around his torso, and his usually spiky hair was let down to allow a smaller one be secured around his forehead. His thin arms, which rested on the sheets, so pale the skin gave off the impression of being transparent, was bruised and battered and his hands were also enveloped in white. Whether it was because the gown was slightly bulky around his slim frame, or because he could not possibly take up the entire bed, the captain himself also looked smaller than usual. Despite his current state of health, however, Toushiro looked calm enough, as he regarded the three other captains in the room, watching him back.

Captain-commander Yamamoto Genryuusai sat on the only chair drawn up at his bedside, staff held with both hands and planted squarely in front of his body, like always. His mouth was drawn a straight line underneath his excessively long beard, and he let off an aura of intensity. Captain Ukitake of the Thirteenth Division and Captain Unohana of the Fourth Division and the chief of the medical ward both stood behind him, a look of concern on their faces. Unohana looked like she had half decided that she was going to evict the other two from the room, captain-commander or no captain-commander, if they caused so much of a decibel of noise that could be stood for at her Division, or if Toushiro looked over at her with silently pleading eyes.

It didn't seem as though the latter was going to happen any time soon, however, because Toushiro himself cleared his throat and drawled (the morning air was making him drowsy), "So, what brings you here today, Captain-commander? An emergency, if you are once again intruding on the Fourth Division grounds while I am supposed to be on leave?"

If the Commander found Toushiro's behaviour unusually lazy and bordering slightly on disrespect, he certainly didn't show it or pegged it on the medicine the youngest of them had been prescribed. "You assume correctly, Captain Hitsugaya," he rumbled, filling the room with his deep, old voice and somehow making himself look bigger without moving. Toushiro looked like he might start studying his nails, if his teal eyes ever left Yamamoto's face. "And since you seem so eager to have this finished and done with so that you may continue your rehabilitation, we'll just get straight to the point. Do you remember the investigation we had of those who were involved in the incident of the desertion of three captains?"

"You mean the other emergency I also had to undergo shortly after waking up? You have the script," he said with a trace of playfulness in his smile, as he nodded at the stack of parchment under Ukitake's arm. "More like interrogation really. But then again I would not have been too relenting myself, considering."

"It was a thorough questioning that covered almost fifty people who were known and reported to have had connection with the traitors between ten to twenty days prior to when the massacre of Central 46 is estimated to have happened," Yamamoto continued, ignoring Toushiro. "It was a surprisingly small number. All captains seemed to have been kept to themselves more than usual around that period, which was more noticeable in the case of Aizen than the other two. Their interaction with other shinigami seemed to have been confined as much as possible to specific persons, like other captains or their vices. Although the investigation is still ongoing, as even the most faintest traces of each former captains' reiatsu are being dug up and followed, the search of their rooms, offices, barracks and other usual haunts have been instigated and completed. And there was something found in Ichimaru Gin's room that concerns you."

There was no change in Toushiro's expression, an easy, small smile plastered on the young face, although a flicker passed through his eyes when the search was mentioned. The old man took his silence as curious consent to go on, and he nodded to Ukitake, who smoothed out the papers in his arms to read them, coughing lightly.

"The onmitsukido who conducted the investigation did not report any revealing evidence of Ichimaru's intentions behind his desertion in his room, much like Aizen and Tousen," he said, skimming his eyes down the paper. "However, unlike the other two former captains, Ichimaru had very little personal belongings apart from the basic items he would need in daily life. He had no furniture to speak of, except for a chest of drawers, and there were no hidden rooms, loose floorboards or any other vacant space that shouldn't have been there in the area around his room's construction. When the investigation party first arrived there, only one set of futon was laid on the floor, unmade. We know that Ichimaru had not returned to his room since two days prior to the incident, which is, the night before Aizen faked his death, since there had been multiple sightings of him by others around the clock, and his vice-captain, Kira Izuru, confirmed on his statement that he had never left Ichimaru's side since his breakout until the very end."

Toushiro remained silent through all this.

"On...on a whim, some of the members of the party decided to take some samples from the futon. Human hair. Since the only hair visible were, at first glance, the colour of Ichimaru's hair, we didn't think...we weren't expectant of the results. That an outsider who Ichimaru might have had a hidden relationship with may exist, and may be able to relay some information. But the results from the Research station came out..."

The Thirteenth Captain excused himself before lapsing into a series of breath-racking coughs, almost doubling over as Unohana reached over to pat his back. His face was slightly red when he straightened up, but he seemed unable to continue and kept glancing at Toushiro half-heartedly.

"You want to know what I was doing in Ichimaru's bed," Toushiro interrupted, deciding to let Ukitake off from his obvious unease.

"Not graphically, per se," Yamamoto said curtly. "But we do want an explanation."

The boy on the bed tapped his fingers together firmly, impatience lacing his voice. "I do believe I covered that in my last interview."

Ukitake shuffled some of the documents in his arms around a bit, before pulling out one particular sheet and holding it in front of him. "The relevant parts of your statement which cover these particular points are in this, I believe. Two days prior to Ichimaru's betrayal, you said that you had been conducting searches and working to piece together the Ryoka's ultimate objective the whole day, and your vice-captain, Matsumoto Rangiku, has confirmed this. In the evening you saw to it that the injured members of your squad were receiving proper treatment and went to talk to other captains to collect more information, as Captain Unohana here, Kyouraku and Kuchiki have acknowledged. When night fell you personally met Ichimaru Gin by visiting his quarters, and then went to sleep. Nothing he had said was helpful nor implying of the later events." He put the paper down with a hint of frustration. "Nothing in this gives us a hint of–"

"I said I went to sleep," Toushiro interrupted quietly, "I didn't say who I slept with."

There was a ringing silence in the room where Ukitake opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again, and left it hanging. Unohana closed her eyes with a silent look of defeat, and the Captain-commander continued to watch the youngest, fragile captain intently. Toushiro broke it by turning his eyes away from the Thirteenth Division Captain and onto his hidden knees, and starting to confess in hushed tones.

"I can't believe how long we managed to keep it going without anybody noticing," he started, keeping his gaze trained down. "I mean, I always thought we were too obvious – he was too obvious, for one, doing things like jumping me in the office or dragging me off when I was walking down the corridors. That night was one of those nights, when we felt lonely without each other and it was my turn to go to him anyway. It had nothing to do with sharing news or talking about the situation, although when I tried to bring up his encounter with the ryoka and his words with Aizen, he shut me up...well," here his cheeks stained a light pink for the first time, but it disappeared quickly enough, "At the time I thought that he just didn't want to talk about work, or let it come between us, but now...he must have just wanted to use me that one last time and enjoy it without me yapping on about unnecessary things. Bastard," he added with a short ugly laugh.

Unohana stepped in then, closer to Toushiro. She just put her arms around Toushiro's shoulders, rubbing small circles into his back with a slow, soothing ryhtm. Toushiro gave her a grateful little smile, and didn't push her away.

"When the morning came I was alone in the bed. The empty space to the right of me was cold. I got up in a rush, because I was almost late to work and I needed to be at the office before Matsumoto finished her meeting. But – but I wondered, so I still spent a half hour going around the barracks, searching for Ichimaru. I was just about to give up and leave for my office, when I felt Hinamori's disruptive, unbalanced reiatsu, and...you know what happened from there.

"I couldn't understand why Ichimaru had not woken me up, and why he had left his own bed so early, but when I saw Aizen's "corpse" and how coldly Ichimaru was regarding Hinamori and Kira fighting each other, I couldn't forgive him. I knew he was planning something. Those past few days it felt like he was keeping something from me, but I hadn't questioned him. Let's face it, nobody would put it past him to murder, and I was confused – I just knew that if two vice-captains ended up injured and out of action and the blame lay in _his_ trickery, then things would just be for the worse for him. I was planning on reprimanding him later, because that hadn't been the time to bicker, although I was furious at him for hiding things from me. But then he left, and I never got the chance to ask him anyway. I don't know if he would have killed me, or broken me so much that I won't be able to think things like that again, but in the end he never told me one secret about what they were operating, and consequently I had nothing to talk to the investigator about. The situation has not changed."

He glared at the sheets in a final kind of way, like he was thinking about adding, "So there". There was a tense feeling between all of them, three watching the wounded boy curl his fists in the whiteness covering him and creating creases in it. The revelation of Ichimaru's lover, this strong, proud child who still looked too young to be wrapped up in all this, too small for his hospital kimono and bandages, came as a shock to anybody who might have been listening, because all anybody could have seen between the two of them was a mutual sense of mistrust that ran deep, cool indifference and simmering hatred underneath their exterior. Toushiro prepared himself for Yamamoto's response, possibly a good old execution for withholding such intelligence on their intimacy, and for having prolonged the investigation anymore.

So his next words surprised Toushiro.

"We expected something like that," Yamamoto said slowly (both Ukitake an Unohana turned to him with wide eyes, indicating that they had not been included in the "we"), still studying Toushiro under his thick eyebrows. "Extreme behaviour, even – or to put it correctly, especially – that of a captain, never escapes us without further examination. And during that, another possibility concerning you and Ichimaru arose. A possibility that you may be lying right now."

The sun seemed to shine just a mite stronger for a moment, casting its rays upon the wooden floor, bouncing off the steel frame of the hospital bed. Toushiro was holding his breath, still determinedly trying to stare a hole into his sheets. There had been no lie in his words, but the higher ups always managed to become creative when they wanted to. He held his tongue, however, because now it was the Captain-commander's turn to explain.

"Matsumoto Rangiku, the Tenth Division's vice-captain. She was close to Ichimaru, if I recall."

Matsumoto? Toushiro's brain was whirling. The happy-go-lucky, always slightly tipsy, quite outrageous, slacker of a subordinate of his. She frequently came to check that he was on the road to recovery, always cheerfully assuring him that the paperwork was getting itself done (he didn't like the way she never said it was her doing her job) while inconspicuously trying to smell her breath by giving her sleeve deep sighs, during which her captain caught a whiff of alcohol wafting in the air. He remembered a few days after he had first woken up, Matsumoto had come skipping in to announce that her inquisition was finally over. He could see the bags under her eyes, and how her hair seemed to have lost some of its usual sheen, and he told her to hand over some paperwork that could be done in his room because his hand was now well enough to write, despite her protests.

"What about her?" His voice felt a bit hoarse.

"Reports indicate she is a reliable worker, if slightly prone to indulge herself more than others at times," Yamamoto continued. "I believe you two are on good terms, with a flexible working relationship. You will be more than inclined to protect her if she was in danger of being condemned for restraining intelligence on a matter like this. Even to the point of planting false evidence."

A pregnant pause. All three captains were watching him with sharply, waiting for a reaction. A bird chirped outside, trilling long and loud until the high note spluttered out eventually. Toushiro did not look up.

So they thought that he was making some story up to keep them off Matsumoto's track? Toushiro knew for a fact that she knew nothing about Aizen's plan after one particular conversation (_"I...just don't know what to feel anymore, Captain..."_) and couldn't disagree that he would tear the whole place apart to search for solid evidence provingthat, but what..._amused_ him the most was that they actually believed _that_had been the best excuse he could come up with to save her. Sleeping with Ichimaru Gin. It was almost laughable, if it was not for the one, intruding idea he had thought he had gotten rid of years ago.

He had always been emotionally high strung when it had all began. What with the secrecy they had both wanted to maintain, and the anxiety enveloping him when he dared to even think about what might happen if they were found out, Toushiro's stress levels were often reaching peak point at the time. Only the large, reassuring hand running through his hair, so firm and gentle when they were alone, calmed him – but as they got closer and the need for discretion in public rose, a new feeling started to corrupt Toushiro from the inside. Jealousy, he realized one day, when the mere sight of a group of female shinigami giggling as Ichimaru passed them in the corridors left an imprint in his mind for days afterwards. Ichimaru had not even acknowledged the girls' existence then, but instead had offered Toushiro a hidden, knowing smile in passing, slightly softer than his usual smirks – yet the boy captain still found himself brooding unnecessarily over the attention Ichimaru, older, more experienced, and TALLER of all things, warranted from his fans even outside his own division.

The feeling spiraled overtime into something a little more twisted and crueler and uglier in the boy's heart until he noticed it enough to push it into one corner, but a little voice still spoke to him in his mind during the time he harboured them – you will never be good enough for Ichimaru Gin.

And for all its falsity, all the stupidity and illogical reasoning (if it even had one), Toushiro could not shake off the thought that even if anybody other than them and possibly their vice captains knew about their relationship, they would always agree that for Ichimaru, Matsumoto would be the better choice.

Out loud, he finally laughed in open abandon, startling Ukitake and Unohana, and causing Yamamoto to raise an overgrown, white eyebrow. Creases formed in the sheets where he clenched them under his small fingers, and he slowly raised his head to meet the gazes of the waiting captains, teal eyes hard and his grin gritted.

"I'm afraid I have to declare something to make it clear," he said in a voice that was not quite as soft as before, nor overly loud. It was steady, controlled – but to anyone who was looking for it, only just. The others could no doubt feel the change of atmosphere around him, as the hair on the back of their necks pricked up instinctively as their honed senses alerted them of the slightest drop in the temperature.

"I don't think there's much I can do to hold you off wearing out my vice-captain anymore," Toushiro continued. "I can't help it if you like to take all and any circumstancial evidence and implications you may find between them to get the exact verdict you want. But I will say this much; Ichimaru was – is – mine. _Mine_, and not anybody else's. Incidentally, I found out myself that I don't like to share only after meeting him. Perhaps he had corrupted me, but all I can say for now is that it was I, and I alone, who truly owned him even for the briefest of times."

His gaze was level, the following silence punctuating the tension in the room. Toushiro was sick of this – sick of having to shout to be heard, of always being bypassed and having a conversation being spoken over his head, tired of having to try double more than others to even be acknowledged and given the respect he should be granted. If it was work, then he could understand easily enough – it had taken some time for his subordinates with the exception of Matsumoto to get used to the idea of having a child as their head. But he had had good workers, and they had eventually managed to scavenge their dignity and pride in their division in order to aim for higher again. Yet the age difference and gender of his and Ichimaru's would never change. Here lay a world made of totally strange priorities and proportions; where every risk taken was larger than the last; every step had to be checked with the other and confirmed; the times when they had to let something go and when push had to come to shove was a tightrope walk until they were both sure they could leap to the ground, still trusting, someday.

Ichimaru had left him, and maybe used him, but one truth remained, and Toushiro was prepared to cling onto it no matter what came next.

"We loved each other," he stated calmly enough, before the upsurge of feelings clotted his throat and convulsed in his stomach. "We did for years. I will not let you twist that. I'm not under the impression that he would have thrown away his life for me or put his future on the line, but – but all I know is that I might have. If it wasn't others' wellbeing at stake, perhaps."

His words were starting to choke up and he could hear his increasing heart rate booming in his chest, but he swallowed down the dizzying feeling that threatened to hit him. The boy in the loose, white robes continued his confession, his plea for recognition, in a trembling voice that was busy suppressing the building anger.

"I don't care if this means that he has thrown me aside like trash," he said, ignoring the prickle in his eyes and the pang in his heart, "I don't care if you see me the same as Hinamori, too absorbed in a dream to see the reality. Right now I think I might have gone with Ichimaru if it meant that I could have him all to myself. Not Soul Society, not Aizen, and not Matsumoto. Mine, like it used to be."

He couldn't hear anything except for the roaring in his ears, not unlike the sound of waves crashing against rocks, and even his own words sounded faint under it. The sudden possessiveness had been all it took for his long built dam to finally break, and he wished now more than ever that Ichimaru had not cast him aside and had instead stayed beside him. He was a captain – his case would not be treated as one of temporary confusion, not like Hinamori, but would be taken seriously in accordance with his "crime" of fraternization with a traitor, even if Toushiro had not known it before. He knew that people like Ukitake would try their best to lessen the charge, try to put the blame on Ichimaru's scheming and quite possibly end up truly believing that themselves, but Toushiro would not have that. He would do anything other than admit their relationship had been a faux, and would certainly not stand to have it shunted away as an episode of deluded fantasy he had been imagining all alone. Even if it meant that he would be stripped of his rank, tortured for information he didn't have, and thrown in to the darkest dungeons Seireitei had to offer.

He just wished Ichimaru was here. To assure him that what they had _had _been real, and that the captain hadn't just denounced his worth as well as ruined the image he had worked so hard to portray for nothing. But he wasn't, and all Toushiro had was himself to believe in, so he waited for the axe to swing down with his head raised high.

The chair's legs scraped against the wooden floorboards as the old man stood, standing still for a moment to tower over the injured captain, before, much to Toushiro's disbelief, moving away towards the door.

"I'm sure you're aware of what is happening down in Central Forty-six right now, Captain Hitsugaya," he called over his shoulder as Ukitake shuffled aside dumbly to let him pass. "The replacement judges are still in the process of being chosen and are moving into their new quarters; so much of the decisions pertaining to the reconstruction of Seireitei are left to us, the Gotei. Soul Society is at a crisis."

Toushiro said nothing. He felt as though his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth.

"A scandal as large as yours will definitely bring disruption in the steadily recovering stage of normality at this moment," Yamamoto continued, still with his back turned. "And we need to be on high alert at all times. We do not know when Aizen would attack and engage his plan – whatever it may be – and to what ends he will go to succeed. We need every hand we can find to stop him – and you are a captain. A very valuable asset that we cannot risk to lose, especially at this point of time."

"Sensei!" Ukitake burst out. There was something akin to fury underneath his usually gentle eyes. "When we capture Ichimaru - "

"There will be no 'capturing', Jyuushirou," Yamamoto cut him off curtly. "What must be done will be done. Do you understand as well, Captain Hitsugaya?"

He forced his mouth to form the words. "I...yes."

There was a nod, and Yamamoto paused with a wizened hand on the door. "Think that there will be no second chance, Captain Hitsugaya," he said, finally turning to meet the boy's eye. "This is not only a time where we are simply waiting for you to recuperate your powers. It is also a time for you to ascertain where your loyalty belongs to."

"Yes." His voice was barely above a whisper.

The old captain surveyed him again for the last time, before walking out of the room. "In any case, I am sorry for your loss."

Those were his final words of sympathy before Ukitake had hurried out after him, and the sound of the door shutting close seemed louder in the small room. Unohana, still standing at Toushiro's bedside, was the first to react; as Toushiro slowly shook himself awake and started wondering whether that had really happened, she produced a pitcher out of nowhere and refilled his glass.

"Drink," she ordered in her soft, motherly voice, pushing the tray on the bedside table closer to him. Toushiro blinked, as if finally having come back to his usual self. He obeyed, taking the painkillers next to the glass, and felt two lumps sliding against his throat as he swallowed them down. The medic was still watching him, with an absolutely neutral face that was lined with tender sorrow after his outburst, and Toushiro realized he didn't quite know what to do with her nearby.

"I ... I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I would actually like to be left alone for a while."

There was no hesitation or needless questions as the woman nodded, and started to take her leave. "I will be back with dinner and your nighttime medicine," she informed him, treating him just like always, before silently slipping away from his bed and out of the room.

Once the door had clicked shut Toushiro rolled onto his side, away from the door, stuffing a fist into his mouth and tried hard not to gag. He smothered his screams the best he could and for once after the whole ordeal, allowed himself to cry properly, letting the tears and saliva run down his cheeks and chin, staining the soft mattress underneath. It was all too much for him now – the anguish, the reality of the matter, the lack of the body heat that should be next to him now, soothing away the clenching of his chest and making it easier for him to breathe, offering him the solace he would find nowhere now.

Somewhere in his grief-stricken mind, Toushiro was wondering bitterly if falling in love was worth the hurt and the aching hole attained when falling out. What made it worse was that even though Ichimaru may have been prepared to have cut all ties and past experiences with him to cause that very pain, Toushiro would never be.

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><p><strong>This has little to nothing to do with Bleach (again) but I'm just wondering if anybody has seen the crossover thing they did with Gintama and Sket Dance. Gintama was it's usual wacko parody thing as usual, and the parts with Gin-san and Bossun sulking was <em>hilarious<em>, and did anybody know that **Jugem Jugem Unko Nage Ki Ototoi no Shin-chan no Pantsu Shinpachi no JinseiBalmunk Fezarion Aizak Shunaider San Bun no Ichi Junjyou na Kanjyou no Nokotta San Bun no Ni ha Sakamuke ga Kininaru Kanjyou Uragiri ha Boku no Namae wo Shitteiruyou de Shinranai no wo Boku wa Shitteiru Rusu Surume Medaka Kazuno Kokoedame Medaka….Kono Medaka ha saki no to ha Chigau Yatsu Dakara Ikeno Medaka no Hou Dakara Raa-yuu yuuteimiouki Mukou Pepepepepepepepepepepepe Bichiguso Maru**'s voice actor is the same as Himeko's? Although they didn't so much as touch on the fact that Gin-san's seiyuu is the same as Switch's, or that Shinpachi's is the same as that Teppei guy. They were probably saving that for the Sket Dance x Gintama thing they did two days later.**

**Sket Dance...um. What on earth _was _that? It wasn't horrible, seeing as the Gintama team did act a _bit _like themselves (i.e try to run the place down with dirty jokes, although personally I think they packed less punch than in their own manga/anime) but when you take in the fact that the manga artist used to be Sorachi-san's assistant, you'd think the _anime_ would try to put in a _little _more effort and money in imitating the character's appearance at the very least. Maybe seeing that episode _after_ Sunrise's production raises the hurdle significantly, but even if you do try to ignore the distinctive differences there's the shocking timing when executing the (toned-down, of course) jokes throughout the whole thing. The tempo between the first and second half of the episode was rather confusing in itself, but if you take in mind what Gin-san pointed out ("You guys are just trying to stall!" "YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO SAY THAT!") it's understandable, but it doesn't mean people on the internet are happy about it. Still, I lol-ed at the "same voice" part, and Switch's "Tutturu~" (STEINS;GATE! Mayushii!) cracked me up XDD**

**But Sket Dance fans are going to have to forgive me for voicing my opinion, which is that Gintama wins this round hands-down. Speaking of Gintama, the new opening and ending is *rest is inaudible due to overload of "squees"*. KAMUI IN A SUIT! SQUEE!**

**Oh yeah. REVIEWS PLEASE. I don't even mind if it's flaming (about the story, not the crossover ramble above ^^;) or graffiti; DOUBLY WILL DIE WITHOUT REVIEWS.**


	5. Give Me a Sign

**One thing about this chapter – so, so awkward. I only had it kinda planned when I started it, and I was going to write a furious Ichigo when he first found out about Ichimaru's rude dumping, but...I suppose a mixture of wanting to take things through the motions slowly and my own laziness plus perpetual writer's block was what prevented me from doing that here. And that's it for spoilers, folks!**

**So the whole shifting plans around (only in my head, so that makes things even more jumbled and disorganized) gave birth to this. This chapter's mostly focused on the interaction between Hitsugaya and Ichigo, but I promise to get things rolling...sometime. (I have no idea~)**

**On the brighter side, I got through my exams and celebrated the last day yesterday by buying myself some new boots! My little sister celebrated by going to Disneyland today with friends because they're doing a Spring Campaign, but that doesn't count because it's raining (and I hope they have a horrible timeshe'sgrowinguptoofast). And I'm holed up in cram school typing questionable fanfiction on my iPod listening to Porno Graffiti (PHOENIX WRIGHT MOVIE! EEEEEEEEEEEEE–) hur hur.**

**So enjoy the coughfillercough chapter!**

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><p><strong>Edit: The last Gin part was edited on August 18th 2012, due to my planning FINALLY catching up a bit with the story. Sorry I didn't include this when I uploaded the chapter!<strong>

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><p>It was a Sunday, and Ichigo looked gloomily across the park, where children rushed around on the dirt and slides. They hung from jungle gyms, much like ornaments on a tree for a holiday soon to arrive, their high shrieks and laughter bubbling into the air as their families watched over them from some distance away. The sky was clear and in the late morning, the sun was high, beaming down on the earth below, enough for those outside to forget the chill and recline in the crisp, dry air. The orange-head leaned on the brick partition, which only came up to his lower back, between the vegetation area and the playground, accompanied by a smaller figure. Toushiro sat on the wall, looking slightly more nervous than he had the night before near the high school student, rubbing his wrists in an anxious habit and glancing at Ichigo from time to time. There was a long silence between the two, and passersby carefully avoided the older, who's scowl was worsening his already punkish look and gave intimidating vibes to anyone who got too close.<p>

Finally, he spoke, and his tone of voice told Toushiro that although he wasn't buying it completely yet, he was entertaining the idea only because it had been _Toushiro _who had brought it up.

"So that's it?" he asked. "No clues of where he'd come from, what happened to him, nothing?"

The boy beside him shook his head.

"Nothing else," he confirmed tentatively. "After we got some things straight, I took him to Jidanbou's gate. There are ways to keep people hidden from the sights of others, so he doesn't know any better. I opened the Senkaimon under the pretense that I was completing my mission, and was returning a material world existence to its original location. We've been living quietly ever since."

Ichigo furrowed his brows further. "And...you have an apartment near here? When neither of you have jobs?"

Toushiro's cheeks flushed lightly. "I'm, well, a captain, so there's no financial trouble or anything. I'm allowed to stay here to investigate the effects the Winter War had on the material world; I just have to report in once every month, plus I have indispensable use of my gigai. So I've been with Gin almost every day, and I haven't seen anything that could lead to the cause of his...amnesia."

"It could be a trap," Ichigo urged accusingly. "Has it _seriously _occurred to you that he might be lying? If he hurts you–"

"He wasn't lying when his reiatsu disappeared," Toushiro cut in quietly. "When he turned into a human. He – it just happened, one night I came home and he could only hear my voice, and even in a good light he could only see my outline. And I – when I tried...I put my hand through him." A shuddering intake of breath, and thin fingers curled to grip the edge of the wall he was resting on. "He could feel something warm but. But. I've been living in my gigai ever since."

He fell into silence again, and the taller boy chanced a side-glance at him. Only now he noticed that despite the perpetual lines on the smaller's forehead and the stiffness he held himself with, something about Toushiro had changed from the time he had known him. There was something of an air about him, which, although it wasn't any less guarded, had something that spoke of comfort and fulfillment. Perhaps it was that the boy captain had been so weighed down and beaten the first time they had met that made the contrast so stark.

But right now, Toushiro's eyes were shadowed and the orange-head could tell he wasn't feeling so forthcoming on telling all this to Ichigo, so he sought to change the subject.

"So – why were you at the shopping district yesterday?" he tried, only to watch, impressed, as Toushiro promptly turned scarlet and his fidgeting upped a tempo. He recognized the unease etched across the younger's face, and, despite himself, fought down a grin at the almost petulant scowl that was steadily deepening.

"We were just taking a walk," Touhiro snapped, the slightest stutter on the edge of his words evident to Ichigo's keen ears. "And – and I had to go run an errand and – Gin can't be seen, so I told him to wait for me."

"Did you?" Ichigo couldn't hide his smirk anymore. The mood had lightened considerably thanks to the blooming small talk, and Toushiro's reactions were getting the best of the orange head. "You know, Christmas is coming up, isn't it."

"A stupid waste of time and just another excuse for businesses to run rampant with their celebration campaigns and sales and whatever," his companion burst out angrily. "Soul Society was right about one thing in not practicing such rubbish. The end of the year is the most busiest time for us – we have papers to finish that can't wait until the New Year, the entire year's fees have to be accounted for and reimbursed by the treasury, resolutions have to be written up _because the Captain-Commander insists_, the whole of the Eleventh Division gets drunk and practically reduces their barracks to shambles, and if – or rather, when – when I get back and find my office on fire, someone, I promise, is going to freeze. And Ukitake gets so ill during this season even his unseated division members just _have_ to fret over him all day and never get any work done, and if Kurotsuchi is exploding another guinea pig with his new toy laser _guess _who gets to be the lucky closest squad actually at hand to deal with the excessive paperwork?"

The student beside him smiled nervously. "This has got to be the first time I've met a kid who doesn't look forward to Santa coming to visit."

"And Matsumoto and the rest of the Women's Shinigami Association pick a random date to visit the material world to do the Christmas shopping, _every_ year, and drag some poor hardworking men to be their baggage carriers and try their _damnedest_ to spend _their_ money. I know – I know, that I shouldn't let her drag me into those _barbarous_ outings, but shit, she digs up dirt about me throughout the entire _year_ to use on that single day. All she does is drag me from shop to shop and treat me like her own personal mannequin! I don't even need half of those clothes! Then at the end of the day she _always_ manages to find a bar the moment I let her slip from my sight, gets inebriated so much she can't walk, and _who _has to haul her drunken ass back to her quarters? Yeah. And if I catch you calling me a kid again, Kurosaki, you can expect to be breathing frost for the rest of the year."

"If it's any consolation," Ichigo said wholeheartedly, "I feel for you, really."

The younger rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. "Christmas makes me want to cry," he muttered.

But he had relaxed visibly, having slipped into his element as a natural born captain (who could really vent when ticked off) without realising. Ichigo stifled a chuckle as he comprehended the boy, who looked much more himself than the night before. This was the Toushiro he had been hoping to meet again for the past months, bristling and proud, and the sight of him actually almost _frightened_ of Ichigo in that alley, the dark walls closing around them and the tall silhouette of _that _man blotting out the view of open skies above, had kept him tossing and turning in his bed all night when he finally got back home in a daze in the night.

The dust of the park whirled up momentarily as a group of children trampled across it, dancing as the breeze picked them up before settling once more. Ichigo watched it absentmindedly, contemplating the options before him now, until coming to the conclusion that the unavoidable has to be faced sometime today.

"Aren't you...you know, afraid I might tell someone?" he asked doubtfully. "I don't have any contacts within Soul Society, but there are people around me who can still see ghosts. And I know a few of them would do me some favours for the info."

The Tenth Division Captain blinked slowly.

"I wouldn't count you to be a grass, Kurosaki, if I could help it," he said. "But should you ever have the inclination, I will not rest until all those with the knowledge have died of unidentified causes. And if I'm too late, then well," he raised and lowered one shoulder. "At least you'll never hear from Gin or me ever again."

"I didn't mean that I'll actually do it," Ichigo said hastily. "It's just...are you sure you're okay with things like this? I'm gratified that you took the time to explain everything to me, but what can I do? If there's any way I can help you–"

Toushiro let out an exasperated sigh. "Trust me, if I knew you well enough to believe that you'll keep your mouth shut without having been told the finer points, and not go investigating yourself, I wouldn't have come see you at all. If I had my way, I would have lied to you on that street about my situation – it would have been easy – and never would have given you a chance to see what was in that alleyway at all. But–" He hesitated. "...But I panicked last night, and led you directly to him. I wasn't thinking clearly, because I had to run into you of all people. The last person I would have wanted to see me and Gin together."

Toushiro's expression remained hard and unamused, but Ichigo could feel the blush rise to his ears. He knew what the boy was at, and the memory of a time they had hardly known each other swam before his eyes. When Toushiro lay on a bed in the medical ward and he himself had underestimated the boy captain in so many ways. He had been so rash then, and so obvious – and that had made the later sting of rejection that much worse. It would be a lie if he said that the sight of the two didn't turn his stomach, and the teenager wondered if this was what it felt like to keep the green-eyed monster caged in his chest.

And yet, he had never seen Toushiro truly happy during the war, nor did he have the confidence to be the one to bring it to him. That bastard made him happy. If the glimpses he had caught and which the Toushiro of old would have never let slip told him anything, it was that his life now had softened his features in a subtle, but sure way.

But that didn't mean he couldn't do better.

He offered the boy beside him a small, friendly smile. "But you know," he said. "Despite all this, I'm glad to see you again."

Toushiro cast him a sidelong glance. "Just...don't expect anything out of this, Kurosaki."

Shrugging, the orange head straightened up from his position against the partition and turned to face Toushiro with a grin that reminded the younger of a Jack 'o' Lantern. "Aw, you never even gave me a chance! You never know, sooner or later you might get sick of babysitting that fox-face. Then where will I be in your mind?"

"Shut UP, Kurosaki," Toushiro snapped. Ichigo could have imagined the flicker in those teal eyes.

"I said I'll wait for you." The smile never left Ichigo's face, and his gaze was level. "If you need anything, and that includes anything to do with Ichimaru, you know where to find me. And well, since you're going to be staying here a while, you're bound to aren't you?"

With that, he tried to make his leave, only to be called back by a slightly worried Toushiro.

"Kurosaki–"

He waved a hand dismissively over his shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't tell anybody. I wouldn't want to lose this last chance for us to get ... closer, right?"

* * *

><p><strong>Seireitei - Summer<strong>

The first thing that came to Ichigo's mind when he met him was that Hitsugaya Toushiro was _tiny_.

Well, he was undoubtedly small – from the description Rukia and Renji had given him of the Shinigami's youngest and most widely acclaimed captain, that much was decipherable (they hadn't exactly said it, though. A look of utter disbelief had crossed Rukia's face and Renji had placed an awkward hand on his shoulder and gave him some friendly advice to never, ever say the s-word in Captain Hitsugaya's face – or anywhere else, just in case) but the white bed was too big for him and his robes sagged in layers and folds around his frame. He was a tiny thing, sitting up against propped pillows and reading a book with a brown, well-worn cover. Ichigo's second thought was to remember how to breathe, because he had never seen skin that looked as milky as that peeking out from the heavy bandages, nor clear eyes so focused on the page those slight fingers were turning. At the moment, unguarded and alone, he looked too delicate to be anything more than the child his body was. Hitsugaya Toushiro was tiny, fragile and the most enthralling sight Ichigo had ever been privy to.

Ichigo wasn't as shocked at his thoughts as he later wondered if he should have been, but (as he convinced himself) perhaps the recent events that had turned his life upside down had done such a number to his nerves that he had, more or less, become immune to the worst kind of surprises. Or maybe living with a father who worshipped a wall-size poster and still tried to jump into the bathtub with his daughters had that effect on him. But he snapped out of his musings when the boy suddenly looked up, straight into his eyes, an irritable look on his (too thin, too sharp) face.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or do you have some business to do? Because you're letting the cool air out."

His cheeks were burning, Ichigo noted distantly, as he felt his feet move across the floor, letting the door slide shut behind him. The boy on the bed was giving him an exasperated look as he slipped in a piece of ribbon between the pages he had been reading, and setting it aside on the bedside cabinet. The ensuing silence as Hitsugaya Touhiro comprehended him shocked Ichigo's brain (which had decided to conveniently leave the body to it's own accord, judging by how jerkily his limbs moved) into realising that he should speak, to which Ichigo's mouth responded by flapping and fumbling over itself, racing to catch up with the situation. "I – I mean, hi, that's – erm, I mean, you..." deep breaths, deep breaths, he urged himself. "I'm–"

"Kurosaki Ichigo, I'm aware," the boy captain interrupted briskly. He had unreadable, slightly narrowed eyes, as clear and – and beautiful, something inside him supplied – as they were. Ichigo gulped, the hardness beneath Hitsugaya's official sounding voice unexpected considering his demeanor. "I can assume that much, given your...attire," he continued, with something of a sniff. "And from what I have heard of you from here. What kind of business may you have with me?"

The orange head stumbled in his haste to follow Hitsugaya's words. "You – you've heard of me?" he asked (he had no idea why he sounded so fucking breathless! Breathe, idiot, breathe!) "That's – I've heard of you, too!"

The boy raised an eyebrow at the goofy smile Ichigo gave him. Ichigo wondered if he had said something wrong. "Okay. So why are you here?"

Oh. He sounded vaguely impatient there. "Well, you're the only captain I haven't met yet, one way or the other. And I did kinda run around loose near your home, we – well, that's everybody minus Ikeda – thought we should apologize for that. I'm so glad I didn't run into you on the battlefield, 'cos I'm not so sure about fighting a ki–"

Hitsugaya's right eye was twitching and he appeared to already be half out of his nest of blankets, reaching for a long sword (don't they ever get these things sized properly?) propped up beside his bed, when the substitute Shinigami remembered all the warnings Rukia and Renji had given him, backtracking swiftly. "I mean, I didn't say that. You look a lot younger than all the others, so you'd have to have a lot of potential, right? Whoa, are you alright?" he asked in alarm, when Hitsugaya clutched at one shoulder, wincing, just as he was resettling back into his position against the fluffed pillows. The smaller took a moment for the sharp pain to ride itself out, then relaxed again, features carefully governed once more.

"I'm still recovering," he admitted, letting the hand massaging a bandaged half of his chest – Ichigo glimpsed the thick fabric wrapped around and over his torso and shoulder from underneath the robe, harsh whiteness against the pale, soft flesh, restricting the boy captain's movements – drop; eyes that had momentarily clouded over with pain were blank again, as he looked up to meet Ichigo's worried gaze straight on. "I'm not in any state to go demanding that our uninvited visitors pay compensation for damaged property. Not that that would happen, now, anyway; you're like the heroes who prevented havoc from being wreaked any more through our world and brought justice into our cruel systems."

He blew some air out as he sank fully into the softness supporting his back, mildly pleased to see that the young Shinigami had the decency to at least redden and look shiftily away. "It wasn't like that," he muttered.

"No. I didn't suppose so, no."

The sound of footsteps approached in the corridor outside, and faded away as Kurosaki glanced around nervously. He fiddled with his robes before dropping them out of awkward realisation, shuffling his socked feet. There was the distinct impression that he was resisting to say something until he worked up the courage to do so.

"Um. You know, I have a friend who can probably help you with...those," he gestured at Toushiro's wounds. "She's a healer, and a pretty good one – not that Unohana-san and the others aren't brilliant, but give Inoue a few hours and she wouldn't even leave a scar."

Toushiro raised an eyebrow. "That is most impressive. Our healers are trained in efficiency rather than perfection, as first aid is prioritized in battle. Herbs are still required for long term treatment, and even then large injuries leave marks. Your friend must have some kind of special power, different from what we know."

"Then–"

"Nevertheless," he continued, cutting off the eager boy. "It is my wish to stay unperturbed here until I have healed up more naturally. I must admit that my intrusion on the Fourth Division is for the reciprocation of my mental health, as well as my physical. And anyway, I behold scars as memories that should not be forgotten, a reminder to learn from my own mistakes and improve, and frankly I cringe at the notion that they – especially the ones I acquired in this incident – could disappear forever."

Kurosaki was watching him with an open mouth. "O-oh," he said almost humbly. "Sorry. I didn't know."

"I apologize also, for turning down an offer you made out of generosity."

He rubbed at the back of his neck, laughing uncomfortably. "No, it's...that's kinda heroic, you know. And brave."

He allowed a small smile to rise to his lips. "You think me as masochistic."

The substitute Shinigami blushed, but retained his silence. Well, Toushiro thought, at least he's honest if nothing else. The strangely heated sideways glance he was sending Toushiro was a little disconcerting, though.

Toushiro studied his healing arm, barely visible scars glinting white as he moved it in the light. The other boy watched him, almost nervously, and jumped when he made his mind up about something and spoke again.

"We all lost something in that battle," he said lowly. "Shinigamis live for centuries, Kurosaki Ichigo. History in Soul Society is usually ruled and coloured in the ways the higher ups wish it to be. Nothing can be trusted – apart from our friends and comrades."

He paused, half expecting for the teenager to make a remark, but carried on in the same, lecturing voice when none came. For a moment, Toushiro considered stopping. He knew he was going to say things Kurosaki didn't exactly need to know, that any young mortal would be better off not knowing. Frustration had been stewing in the bottom of his belly for a while now, searching to hurt someone, anyone, chained in only by his responsibility as a captain. But he could not stop himself.

"Trusting someone itself is a task none of us do readily, unlike you and your friends can," he continued. "It's not some petty problem like asking someone to keep a secret; we trust each other with our lives, with the mutual belief that we must live and work for the balance of the universe. That we will be able to welcome the future together. But as much as Soul Society is a place which works mechanically, and tries to discourage us from forming ties with each other, nothing hurts more than having that fact being shoved into our faces and be treated like all that...trust...meant nothing. I don't expect you to understand the weight of it, Kurosaki Ichigo, but that is what this incident essentially meant to us. Just because our job description includes 'perishing regularly' and 'frequently shifting positions' doesn't mean that we feel nothing when we lose something. And...and the other people you have met up till now may not have shown it blatantly for the sake of their pride, but inside they are struggling to make you feel welcome and keep up the sense of normality. It may be for the best if you relieved us of that effort as quickly as possible and return to where you belong."

_You're no hero to me if you can't get back what I'm wanting the most._

He saw the boy wince at his words, but he only felt a slither of guilt coil in his gut, before vanquishing it into the void that had become his heart. Toushiro knew that he was lashing out in his own, subdued way, that by mocking Ichigo's immaturity and foolishness he was being bitter and distancing himself from the boy. How would he feel if he was spoken to like that by someone who looked younger than him? He was acting like a toddler, although discreetly – he had not been the only one caught up in the chaos that had swept through only recently, but here he was, tangled in his own tale of tragedy and woe. Here he was ridiculing the saviour of Soul Society that despite his efforts, he couldn't stop the inevitable.

It was unfair and just plain mean, but no matter how hard this Kurosaki tried, he could never fully understand the loss Toushiro felt at the betrayal of his lover. And that was a fact.

Kurosaki was watching him with shrewdly, harder than Toushiro had thought was possible with those young, chocolate eyes looked capable of. He wondered if he had actually struck a chord and finally landed himself in the boy's black book. In any case, he supposed he deserved it.

"But," Kurosaki said, and flushed as he found he didn't know what to say next. "...You're right," he admitted after the false start. Toushiro blinked. "I don't know what you guys have been through, or how it must feel to be, you know, treated like that. It must be hard on you guys, like you said, and I was always kinda worried if I wasn't intruding on something here. I couldn't imagine how you must feel even if it took me years. But...but I..." Creases gathered between Kurosaki's eyebrows. "I think I know how it feels to lose someone dear."

Toushiro's breath hitched – the boy was looking at him with the saddest eyes, only not really seeing him as if he was remembering a past disclosed only to himself. He'd sounded forlorn, regretful; he was far more expressive than anyone Toushiro had known, practically an open book to be read. He was missing someone.

The young captain shifted in his bed. "Our one's aren't gone forever," he muttered. "It's not really like that. Not this time."

"I know. But they're good as, right? That's probably what makes this harder. And why I'll never know–" Kurosaki rubbed the back of his neck almost sheepishly. "Sorry. It wasn't supposed to come out like that."

Ichimaru. He thought of that grinning bastard, at the edge of his sword and dripping dark, red blood. Toushiro sucked in a breath, and closed his eyes for a moment. "No. It's the truth, after all."

He picked up the book beside him again, and started absentmindedly flipping through the pages, noting the length of his fingernails he had left alone since sustaining the injury. He felt Kurosaki watching him, as for a while the room was only filled with the sound of the ticking clock and the quiet crackling of paper against paper in between fingers. The sun was high in the sky, nearing noon, a ray spilling onto the polished dark wood of the flooring. Unohana would be bringing his lunch in soon, and he shall ask her for a clipper for his nails then.

"You are such a brat," he spoke up, suddenly, not bothering to check Kurosaki's expression. "You are overstaying your visit here, and you know it. Once I'm well enough to sit at my bloody desk I swear I am going to write a request to the Commander to have you evicted." Glaring with the full force of his annoyance now, he turned his attention back to the boy at the foot of his bed. He wasn't surprised to see his lips twitching at the corners. "Get out while my patience lasts."

His companion looked partially relieved that the heavy atmosphere had almost instantly been dispersed, and was smiling very slightly at Toushiro's crankiness. "They did say you might be difficult," he said cheerfully, before giving a fake cough. Toushiro made a note to persuade Kuchiki to reward his rough vice-captain with a pay cut. "Um, I don't know about being called a brat by someone younger than me. Hey, can I call you Toushiro? It kinda feels weird talking to you like I do to teachers. And Toushiro's a cool name!"

"No, you MAY NOT."

"Oh, okay," Kurosaki said, his cheer never deterring and face lighting up like a flashlight despite having just been rejected. Toushiro wondered if he had taken too many hits to the head or was naturally dense. "I guess I should get out of your hair now. I'll come around again later, right? You're pretty, um, pretty interesting to talk to. See you around, Toushiro!"

"It's _Captain Hitsugaya_!" the boy gritted out as the carrot head jogged out of the room snickering, before hissing irritably and clutching at his shoulder, nestling back into bed. Stupid mortals. It had been a long, long time since he had come into contact with one, but in his opinion they were becoming dumber through generations.

Outside the medical ward and in the sun-basked courtyard, Ichigo dared to give a tiny skip and grinned like his face would break in half.

* * *

><p>Staring at Kurosaki's retreating back, the young Shinigami mulled his parting words over in his mind, alarmed at the heat rising to his cheeks. That idiot was getting strange ideas in his head, and Toushiro had half the mind to go after him and straighten things out. He didn't exactly think that he'd been leading Kurosaki on – damn it, he'd even made it clear that he would do absolutely anything for Gin's sake! But that rock head never listened to him, from the name issue to this...this insistence that he knew what was best for Toushiro. Obviously the student had no idea about Toushiro's condition since the news of Ichimaru's death.<p>

Sighing inwardly, he decided to let it be. Things were too complicated to explain thoroughly, and he _had _warned the boy. His only concern had been that Kurosaki would somehow get the information of Gin's existence across to Soul Society, and he'd just effectively prevented that possibility the best he could. The human could be trusted to keep promises.

God, a few months out of action and already he was being swept off his feet by a single disturbance in his relatively quiet new life. He shouldn't be feeling so tired just by this, but right now he could only think about going back to Gin in their rented apartment and rest. His partner had been acting strangely – stranger than normally – last night after their talk, and Toushiro wanted nothing more than to see him and be assured that he had not been so affected by actions he technically had no fault over.

But the universe seemed to be against him that morning. The back of his neck prickled in warning before he heard the faraway shriek; inhumane and rasping and which echoed over the buildings of the city. Looking over at the playground, no one seemed to have noticed it much (although if he had watched closely, he would have seen a couple of children in the sandbox and at the iron bar cock their heads for a second, before continuing their ministrations) and Toushiro groaned to himself.

Just to pent out his frustration, he was going to make sure that the Hollow died a particularly long, gruesome death.

* * *

><p>Back in their apartment, bundled in the comforter at the edge of the sofa, Gin waited for the captain to return. He'd flicked the TV on, and was watching it absently as some glamorous celebrity or other was flicking her hair and flashing her pearly white smiles. He'd finished his cup a long time ago, and now it sat, empty and cold, on the glass surface of the coffee table before him.<p>

Gin wondered what was keeping Toushiro so long. Maybe the boy was being difficult. Maybe Toushiro was in danger, maybe he'd run into trouble...

But, Gin reminded himself, as his nails dug deeper into the softness of the comforter, Toushiro would surely come back to him if that happened. Or... or send a message, somehow. He just knew that Toushiro was strong, and powerful, and could do things Gin couldn't on his own. He didn't know exactly what being a captain entailed, but he had grasped that it meant fighting those monsters he used to be able to see, braving the odds against them for a purpose much more important and bigger than themselves, and risking their lives on occasion (although Toushiro was quick to soothe his worried partner about this).

And even if he knew if Toushiro needed help, Gin would not be able to provide it. He was, by a strict promise with Toushiro, essentially chained to this room if Toushiro was out. Gin didn't really think it like that, of course, and had understood perfectly what his partner was concerned about. He was helpless. He was small before the Hollows, before the world he couldn't remember. And he had someone who worried for him.

_(Who did Toushiro worry for? Is it really Gin? Or is it him, the other him?)_

Gin shifted his legs under the worn blanket, and imagined the clinking of shackles around them. He looked up at the walls and imagined them as bars.

He was being _ridiculous_. Toushiro treated him like he was the world, and for Gin, there was no one except Toushiro. But now that Kurosaki boy had entered this small space they had built, had opened a door to a world Toushiro had been hiding from him. He thought – for some illogical, unexplainable reason – he'd loved the younger boy, but now he knew he'd left Toushiro before; and that he'd betrayed him; and tried to kill him–

And now – now he was, perhaps, overreacting. That hadn't been him, Toushiro had said, who'd done all that. That wasn't him.

_(Does Toushiro love Gin? Or does he – )_

Toushiro said he had forgiven him – the man who had also sacrificed his life to double-cross the mastermind, who'd lived secretly for years deceiving the deceiver. But you aren't responsible for all that, Toushiro had said. _It doesn't concern you_, his words whispered.

Because Ichimaru is not Gin. And Gin can never be Ichimaru.

_(–Or does he love Ichimaru?)_

Gin burrowed deeper into the comforter, silently wishing his lover to come back soon. He didn't know. He didn't like feeling this way. He loathed the sneering voice resounding in his head, which sounded horribly like his own.

* * *

><p><strong>Edit: Once again, apologies for this rather large edit. Obviously I forgot to mention that throughout the chapters, Gin and Ichimaru have been treated as different persons (Ichimaru is the snarky bastard we all know and love, while Gin is this confused, floundering pup of a grown man I am currently enjoying prodding with my metaphorical stick and watching him <em>squirm<em>). Try going back to see if this is true! And hopefully, it will make more sense.**

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><p><strong>I found myself pinching the bridge of my nose when I mentioned Ikeda here and going, "Um. Okay, every group had a stand-up man in it, who was the humans'? He was...he had – Yes! Yes! He had glasses! He was...Ikeda! Oh, that's right." I've had trouble remembering recurringinitial characters before, but nothing this bad. Seriously, I think there's something fundamentally wrong in letting your kid read a manga which kills off characters – more villains than heroes, at that – the moment their moment is done. We'll be like "yawn, so who's up next?"**

**Do you get my drift? I've been tapping my foot waiting for Gin's reappearance for, like, forever. *contemplates the Poland rubbing off on me***

**So I'm actually on the train writing this now on my iPod (digitalised age has aided spellcheck to auto-correct ipod to iPod right now) and a poster promoting a book is stuck on the window in front of me. The book is called "Monkey D. Luffy's Party Skills", written by Professor Yuki Yasuda of Kansai University's Social Studies faction. It's supposed to be some kind of psychology book, by the looks of it.**

**O...okay.**

**I've never read One Piece before (my cousins think I'm missing out in life, haha) but it only costs ¥1260...not that I need it, or anything! Because I'm awesome! *contemplates the Prussia* And now the pretty lady in the long coat on the platform on the other side of the window thinks I was staring at her.**

**Reviews are received with much squeals and hearts bubbling randomly around my room~**


	6. What Goes On

**SORTA IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: For readers who have read the last chapter before August 18th 2012, I need to warn you that I've made an edit at the very end of the chapter - it now has a Gin part~ eheheheh. I gave the whole story (or at least what I had in my head) a once over, and the stupid plot bunny which I am forever chasing around with a butterfly net decided to pop in and point out "Hey, this pretty important storyline you've just thought up wouldn't work unless you put THIS in" and shoved at me a whole POV of our favourite fox face. True to my nature I've forgotten much of the aforementioned storyline since I am an idiot and didn't write it down, but hey, at least I'm used to making things up as I go along.**

**Anyway, for the sake of things to make sense in the long run - and I'm going to have to leave that utterly exhausting task to you, because I NEVER make sense when I want to - I suggest you go back to Chapter 5 once and let my Gin angst a bit on you X3**

**On unrelated news, I shall also celebrate the selling of Hetalia vol.5 (a manga sold ONCE A YEAR, PEOPLE. ONCE. A YEAR.), and the confirmation of a fifth Hetalia season (! *faints* *wakes up and takes pic of the poster on the train declaring it*), plus the restarting of the anime of Gintama, as well as the continuously incoming info of the new game in the Gyakuten Saiban/Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney series~! This is the best year EVER.**

* * *

><p><strong>So - fail chapter is, of course, fail. There are scenes implicating mature content in this chapter, but they are mostly for my favourite hobby - Hitsun mind torturing - but there's no way this story is getting through anything without mature content. So unfortunately, it's not wank off material - unless you are very sick - but I promise I'll try to include stuff like that in later chapters, assuming most readers want them. All I need is some porn, doujinshis, and a good few months alone with them. TMI?<strong>

**Ahem. My university exams are essentially over (being bilingual in a place which values English above all else, like Japan, is very, very advantageous I found XD) but familiar readers should know by now that doesn't mean I will be updating any faster. Lazyass, remember? *is hit by a shower of bricks* E-enjoy~**

* * *

><p>He had only rattled the key in the lock when the door swung open before him. Toushiro blinked, his hand still hovering for the door knob. He looked up to find Gin standing behind the half open door, still in the clothes he had gone to bed in last night, face significantly brightening at the sight of the boy.<p>

"Yer home!" he said cheerfully, taking hold of Toushiro's arm and tugging him through the threshold. Toushiro almost stumbled at the unusually strong force he was being invited in with, and took a quick glance around the apartment. The curtains were pulled back, but the lights were off, and the sky outside was already darkening as the early winter evening approached.

Closing the door on the dim room, Toushiro let the older man nuzzle his white hair like a happy puppy, and then reached up to kiss him quickly as per their routine. Gin's lips were warm against his own dry, cold ones, making him linger just for a moment longer before pulling away to unwrap his scarf. A small part of him relaxed to find the man as eager to see him as usual, and it easily dismissed the idea which had been plaguing him all day; that the revelation of Ichimaru's past might have changed Gin somehow, causing him to act any differently. Gin looked normal to him, or as normal as a full grown man twice his height could look when Toushiro could almost see the tail wagging furiously behind him.

_You were being paranoid. Ichimaru has no hold on Gin – this Gin – now that he's gone. Gin can deal with this; accept and adapt, like normal humans._

To Gin, he said out loud: "Sorry for keeping you. There was a Hollow lurking around, but it's nothing to worry about anymore; the attack was a long way off from here."

And here the rest of Soul Society had thought that ridding themselves of Aizen and the greatest origin of reiatsu in Karakura, Ichigo, would help reduce the frequency of the attacks. It wasn't that the Twelfth Division did a shoddy job of patching up the dimensional walls between the material world, Soul Society and Hueco Mundo, but Toushiro was inclined to think that perhaps Kurotsuchi hadn't been quite as focused on the job as he should have been right after the winter battle. The man had gone around the rubbles of the fake Karakura afterwards, picking up bits and pieces of he-didn't-even-want-to-know, cackling quietly under his breath.

He wrestled the jacket off his shoulders once Gin finally stepped back to give him some space, and draped it across the sofa arm. The room had a truly gloomy feel about it – the television was turned off, the screen a blank, black mass, and neither the tall lamp in the corner nor the ceiling lights were on. A book lay on its front on the sofa, presumably where Gin had left off when he heard Toushiro at the door. Frowning, he picked it up and slid a discarded pen between the pages as a makeshift bookmark.

"I've told you, you shouldn't read in the dark. It's bad for your eyes."

"Ya know, that's just a myth," Gin piped up from somewhere behind him. "Yer eyes just strain themselves because yer trying to read the words up close. I saw it on TV today."

Toushiro turned, brows lifted. Gin suddenly looked faintly guilty, shuffling his feet like a scolded child, although for what, he couldn't seem to decide.

"Don't believe everything you see on TV," Toushiro told him sternly. His own tone took him slightly by surprise; before, it had been Ichimaru instructing him on mundane aspects of their daily lives. It was still strange to see how their roles had reversed after everything that had happened, but he was secretly relieved to find he was getting used to it a little. "And the effect's the same. Why aren't the lights on?"

He moved for the switch on the wall, brushing past the man on the way. Toushiro caught sight of an apologetic smile flickering across the other's lips. "Sorry. I lost track of the time."

Flipping the switch on, Toushiro continued on to the narrow gallery kitchen tucked in one corner of the apartment. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gin wandering slowly after him, leaning on the doorway as he opened the fridge for dinner. "Have you eaten?"

A shake of the head. "I was waiting for ya."

"You needn't had." But he could not keep the small smile from touching his lips, as a pleased sensation stirred within him at Gin's simple, unquestioned loyalty. Toushiro ducked behind the heavy refrigerator door to hide it, pulling out some canned soup from the back. "I'll fix something for us, then. It won't be much, though, I don't feel up to anything elaborate. Way to spend a day, huh…"

He had expected Gin to have moved into the kitchen, or to the coffee table they usually ate at, but when he turned the tall silhouette of the man still blocked the entryway, half-shadowed by the light coming in from the living room next door. Cocking an eyebrow at the uneasiness vibrating from the man – he hadn't noticed it before, but then, Gin had the odd habit of easily shrugging on and off curious atmospheres on a whim, even before – Toushiro kicked the fridge door shut, and carefully placed the tins on the counter to face him properly. "Gin?"

The man shifted uncomfortably at the prompting tone. "How…how did it go with the boy? Ichigo?"

Toushiro blinked, before relief washed over him, soothing the tension in his muscles he hadn't known had lodged itself in. A small breath of laughter dropped from his lips; when Gin looked at him questioningly, he just waved a hand to try to disperse the anxious expression.

"Everything's going to be fine," he said, turning to rummage through the shelves for a can opener. "He won't tell. Ichigo knows what's at stake if we're found – both for us and him, if my message got through that thick head properly."

"Oh," he could hear the smile back in his lover's voice, and then bare feet padding closer till there was warmth at his side. Gin seemed relaxed now, far more so than he'd been when he opened the door – Toushiro thought back to the almost hastening way he had been pulled into the house, and suddenly felt a spark of guilt at having worried the man with his lateness. "That's…that's good. I mean, I was thinking today, about wha' we've talked about. And ya know–" Toushiro had stiffened at his words, heart jumping to his throat, "I guess it's just occurred ta me that if they do find out – that I'm here, and that ye've been hiding me, more or less…they're not going ta let us go, are they?"

Toushiro's breath hitched. It didn't take a genius to know that Gin had been thinking far worse things than simply being kept captive, or as much as his imagination could let him; he could hear the dark undertones of fear as Gin spoke, seeping in through the gaps his hesitations allowed as he chose his words carefully. Something cold gripped him as he quickly put down the can opener onto the counter, and grabbed a startled Gin's arm instead.

"I won't let them," he said, voice as hard as steel, and he couldn't stop himself as his fingers dug deeper into the grip. "I'll do anything to keep them from finding us. I'd kill myself before I let them put a finger on you. They won't–" he swallowed, "They won't keep us apart again."

Gin was watching him, Toushiro realised a second later, with something akin to cautiousness and more than a little nervousness. He released his arm quickly and swept a hand through his white, lopping hair, turning back to the counter and the cans. A sick feeling had taken up residence in his chest, and Toushiro tried to dispel it by scrabbling to calm himself down. "We just have to make up a plan, that's all. It'll be alright, Gin."

He had meant for it to sound reassuring, but Gin had stayed silent – unusually silent, even for him – even as Toushiro prepared their dinner, a meagre meal of bread and corn soup. His own mind was awhirl with newfound worries he'd been keeping at bay with odd chores all day, including the Hollow he had spent playing hide-and-kill for hours into the afternoon, but for all the work he was putting his brain through nothing felt as organised and sorted as most things he dealt with should be. Toushiro was brainstorming possible ways the Onmitsukido could find them, and the kidous he hadn't used yet to prevent them, when Gin broke the hush that had fallen between them.

"An' what is the plan?"

Toushiro picked up the bowls into which he had mindlessly transferred the heated soup, and walked out of the kitchen without answering straight away. It only distressed him further when, despite the complicated scheming he had conjured up in his mind, the only answer he could come up with was, "Stay hidden. Stay safe…I suppose."

- X -

_There are cool hands at his sides, and he trembles and gasps as they graze bare skin. The puff of laughter below his ear is contrastingly warm, and even though it is a small, natural gesture Toushiro feels as though he just might lose his mind from it. The hammering of his heart and the confusion in his mind certainly does not help things. So he can't contain the cry as the man suckles on the soft, sensitive skin just under his ear lobe, wet, thick tongue darting out to tickle it hotly._

_The body on top of him rumbles again in laughter, shifting so that it is propped up on elbows on either side of the smaller boy. He can feel the blush coming on as the snake rears its head to stare at him, the heat in its gaze and the softness in its smile betraying the cold-blooded creature within he had seen in combat, time and again._

"_Look at ya," the man whispers, eyes raking over his frame, thin and bony and pale. "Beautiful."_

_He squirms, although out of embarrassment or guilty pleasure, he's not even sure himself. He can no longer tell the difference. "Ichimaru–"_

_The mouth, that mouth which could lick and suck and form words he didn't deserve, makes shushing sounds as it lowers itself over his own. "Not here, Toushiro. Ya don't call me tha' _here_, remember?"_

_Toushiro can't help the small whining sound as lips cover his, pressing the things he was going to say back into the cavern of his mouth, back down his throat. He isn't what this man says he is. He's small and scrawny, not like the women who fawns after his secret lover, and he doesn't have the experience he knows Ichimaru sometimes wishes he does. He tries, tries so hard to catch up, to be able to please the captain, but sometimes it feels like his struggling was futile, pointless, as though whatever he did would be for nothing. Sometimes he catches himself yearning for simpler days, when he could just focus on his shinigami duties and be all about work like his colleagues mutter about him, and never have to deal with this at all, this muddling, this mistake, this confusing affection he could never tell if it was real–_

"_Stop thinkin'," hot breath washes over his face, commanding and luring as the deep voice that fills every inch of him._

–_But then the warmth is upon him again. The movement is teetering on the verge of desperation, and yet languid and easy, sending electric sensations swimming down his spine, through his limbs, making his fingers twitch uncontrollably in the man's silky hair. The snake's tongue entwines with his own, making him forget all thought, and anyway, he feels ridiculous for having them already. Thought was for daytime, when they both had jobs to do, and when trusting the other with his back translated into finding the first opening to stab it. But the night was theirs, and real or not, the warmth their bodies provide and the adrenaline that causes him to moan shameless things light something within them, deep and old and exhilarating. Their acts may be primal, lowering the worshipped shinigami to the same standards as beasts, but he didn't care. In fact, he was glad he could see it as that – base and sordid, so far and different to their normal lives – because it meant that he didn't have to search for the reasons Ichimaru chose him to keep him company for the night. He could just assume Ichimaru wanted him, and everything beyond that blurred into incomprehension._

_Sharp teeth scrape his neck, and the moan which warbles loudly in the dark room – he thinks they're in a room, which is silly, where else would they be doing this? – is swallowed up abruptly with a biting kiss. They're both breathing hard when they break apart, Toushiro turning his face away so that he can gasp and whimper freely as a large hand strokes him._

"_I don't regret this," a voice whispers harshly above his ear, and Toushiro shuts his eyes tightly, pretending it an act from pleasure and not from the pain stabbing his chest. "I will – never – regret this."_

_He doesn't want to think. He just wants to concentrate on the sound of his own voice as he forces it to moan louder, on the slick wetness between his legs. The weight of the body on top of him, its heart thrumming in tune with his. Everything, everything that envelops him that is of this man, and yet nothing from within he would be given the chance to doubt the sincerity of. Because he is afraid of his own unfaithfulness, he fears how he is slipping, unhinging steadily but surely, and he fears he might not have the strength or the control to trust Ichimaru._

_Because, he realises with a last, unforced cry, he completely belongs to this man._

- X -

Toushiro woke with a jerk.

The first thing he did was to stretch a hand under the sheets, and feel between his legs. Relaxing slightly to find only an uncomfortably hot stiffness instead of wetness, he lay back against the pillows and stared up at the dark nothingness of the ceiling. He listened as the _thud-thud-thudd_ing through his veins slowed and quieted, till the car horns blaring outside from far away were more noticeable than the frantic rhythm.

It had been a long, long while since he had dreamed of Ichimaru. Longer still that it was about their sex, probably because his grieving mind had pulled the barriers down on anything that may sully the memory of the man…who, on later thought, may frankly be delighted that Toushiro was still thinking of him that way.

After a moment's contemplation, he snuck a glance at the lump of blankets slumbering beside him on the wide bed. Gin had originally had his own room, but like a young child vying for his parents' comfort, he had not been able to break the habit of migrating to Toushiro's bed despite the boy's admittedly not very strict reprimands. In any case, it seemed that he had not been disturbed from his sleep; the blankets rose and fell with each deep, slow breath, and although his back was turned there was no sign that he had so much as stirred since dropping off to his own dreamworld. Toushiro closed his eyes in relief.

The faint outlines of the scenes replayed themselves on the back of his eyelids. To be truthful, he could not remember when that particular night had occurred, or even if it ever did – the words dream Ichimaru had murmured to him did not sound familiar, and he could easily chalk it up to something his unconscious, and apparently wishful, brain had conjured. Toushiro did, however, remember a period when he had felt inferior to his older lover; it was a phase he was still ashamed of even now, and it was not a feeling he liked to revisit. While there had always been faint remnants of doubt lurking in the corners of his mind that Ichimaru did not genuinely care for him – and the thought only intensified after that fateful summer, alone in a white, empty hospital room – Toushiro was not proud of the fact that he had once suspected the other man of seeing other people secretly. He had never confronted Ichimaru himself about his unfounded suspicions, but when he had stopped and imagined himself in Ichimaru's place, accused of disloyalty and infidelity upon everything else they had to deal with as captains … it was enough for him to at least fight the doubting, mistrustful voices constantly whispering in the back of his mind.

But that was a long time ago. It didn't really matter now.

To his disappointment, something blocked him from falling asleep again, pulling him back to the night sounds and the deep breathing beside him no matter how much he tried. The hardness was not going away any time soon, either, and Toushiro blushed when every small movement he made somehow reminded him of the shifting of layered bodies, something hot and heavy pressed up to him. Toushiro turned to his side, away from the other body next to him, and tried crossing his legs as tightly as he could under the blankets, but to no avail. The aching need for stickiness clinging to his fingers was the last straw; he threw the sheets off, savouring the coolness of the room as he slipped out, and slunk out of the room on bare feet as swiftly and silently as possible.

He perched on the toilet seat, intent on taking his time in the bathroom. It was the middle of the night, and he was apparently not going to get a good night's rest without this anyway. It had been a while since Toushiro had touched himself last – there was something pent up inside him, eager to spill out after having been ignored for so long. He only had to imagine the dream again, add a few more expletives and selectively – conveniently – blank out the parts that reminded him of that inferiority-phase, and found no trouble finding the familiar rhythm as he worked his hand roughly, coming with a small cry muffled into the hem of the shirt he was biting into. While his mind came down from its high, allowing a wave of exhaustion wash over him, the boy caught his breath and cleaned himself using the rest of the paper roll beside the toilet.

It felt, admittedly, infinitely better to have been let to lose himself in mindless pleasure, despite the situation. Toushiro quietly crept back into the bedroom and underneath the covers, shivering at how cold the sheets had become in the winter night. He was about to settle back down and close his eyes, preparing to drop off into the heavy sensation of sleep, when a movement beside him caught his attention.

A curious eye peeked out at him from under the nest of blankets. "B'throom?" Gin's voice was rough and hoarse from sleep, and slightly muffled.

Toushiro quickly forced a small smile onto his lips. "Yeah. Did I wake you?"

"Mm. 't's okay," Gin yawned, and nestled closer to him. He reached out, presumably to stroke or hold the younger's hand, and Toushiro took it immediately out of habit.

_Long fingers are splayed across his chest, playing with his nipples_–

"Toushiro?"

He blinked; Gin was watching him, eyes slightly alarmed; his hand wavering, unsure, over his own. Toushiro realised he had just slapped it away.

"Gin, I–" he floundered, trying to get a hold of himself, "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me…"

He saw Gin hesitate, then relax; the hand reached for him again, reassured, but in his brain there were already warning bells ringing–

_Smothering his body; he gasps as electric runs down his spine, making his back arch as the hands dance and tease his weak spots, in rhythm with the almost desperate sucking below–_

He flailed, and almost fell out of the bed.

"_Don't_–"

Touch me.

This time, it took him more than a moment to get back to his senses. Gin had made no move to come closer, frozen on one awkward arm and still leaning uncertainly forward where he had tried to reach for Toushiro. He couldn't take the silence between them, still and tense apart from his harsh breathing, not when Gin's blue eyes were searching his face for a clue of what was happening, imploring him to stop scaring him.

His rationale tugged at his conscious at that, yelling at him squeakily to smooth that terrible expression away, but the images, the wicked, primal urge for lust rose again from the deep.

_Blue eyes, pale eyes he hoped nobody else would ever see but him, smiling mischievously up at him as that flick of a tongue drives him wild with too much ease. He feels hot with the simple knowledge that they are watching him, watching and knowing that he is like this – sweaty, messy, and exhilarated – all because of him. Blue and green meet–_

"I," Toushiro croaked, hastily swinging his legs out of the bed once again, "I need some air."

There was the sound of hurried creaking when he reached the door, so he turned and more or less ordered, "Go back to sleep," because he couldn't handle seeing Gin, lost and troubled, right now. It was a miracle that he had gotten as far as the living room, where he collapsed on the sofa, and buried his head in his hands.

_Gin isn't him_, he chanted in his mind. _And he isn't Gin_.

They had the same face, the same body. That was it. Toushiro felt sick when he tried to imagine Gin in the place of Ichimaru, seductive, luring, offering.

He had made it a point not to engage Gin in any of that kind of activity since they had met. Gin was too – he never thought he would say this, but – too innocent, and chaste in his eyes, in a way that made him naturally decide that kissing was going to be their limits for an indefinite time. He doubted if Gin even knew of anything related. But to have their images overlap … to recognise their touches as one and the same …

_If only he had his memories back_, hissed a small voice, _then_–

No. Shut up. He was _not_ like that.

Toushiro sat there, alone, until the first morning light made itself known through the wide windows. When he stole back into his room, Gin was under the covers again. His back was turned, but his breathing was too evenly paced for him to be asleep.

After a moment's hesitation, Toushiro shuffled through the covers to lie right beside the man. His eyes were glued to the larger figure silhouetted against the soft light starting to stream through the gaps in the curtains, even after he settled back into his spot. It was only when, after what seemed like hours more, he managed to gently press his palm onto the – stiffened – back, that he was able to relax and close his eyes, and let the inevitable weight of sleep sweep him away, at long last.

* * *

><p><strong>I despair of my own inability to write *reads over again* whatever this was.<strong>

***cries***

**Shiro-chan's mentality is so hard to imagine, much less write. Basically, he's supposed to be so much older than anyone I've ever known, and yet still be youthful enough to be able to experience, or remember experiencing, stuff like puberty or lust or possessiveness - and the fear of being thrown away, Ichimaru being his first and only partner ever. So I attempted to wrap it all up in single words like "inferiority" and describe it as a "phase".**

**...**

***cries***

**Oh, for people who missed the note on Chapter 5 about how "Ichimaru" and "Gin" are portrayed as different people (the former points to the Ichimaru before his death in the Winter War, and the latter after that), here it is again. I should probably repeat this a few more times elsewhere, because it'll definitely make it a hell more easier to seperate the two from now on. In fact, this setting was prevalent inside my mind even before I started this story, so maybe you'll find something interesting if you go back and read through from Chapter 1 - with this new information in mind. *winkwink* ...Nah, you don't have to.**

**I suppose I'll be working on "Bearing Redemption" until I think up stuff for the next chapter. Anyway, Doubly feeds on reviews with gusto, especially when her muse is dwindling and her laziness levels are shooting back up since the anxiousness of exams had disappeared. COME ON PEOPLE, YOU'VE SEEN THIS CHAPTER.**

***cries***


	7. Scarborough Fair

**Yay! Christmas! Well, almost. With uni exams finished, school getting ready for our year's graduation, and winter holidays next week, you'd think I'll have a jolly good time lounging around and getting fat and writing fanfic. But, uh, I've ended up searching for a job because I need the money, and entering a translation school for the sake of something called my future. God, I don't know XP**

**On the upside, I have a new iPhone! (That's right, although I'm not sure whether to curse the new speaker thingy or not.)**

**Reviews would be very very nice. The last chapter got...one, to count, and I pour all my love in that one because if I didn't, I'd probably be a nervous wreck right now. Thanks goes to Queenie for that, I'll be sure to pay it back in due time. So...please? For the sake of my sanity? I promise I'll write faster!**

**Since I'm on a bit of a writer's block with Telling Thoughts, I pulled up an old piece and altered it to fit the story! Nothing like a good flashback to get the ball rolling again. So yeah, this was my first ever GinHitsu story that never became its own, but it was more of an experimental piece than anything else. It started with me exploring the characteristics of my version of Shiro-chan and his view on the shinigami. This is what I mangled, I mean, shaped it into.**

**Also, structural writing. Wait, what?**

***crazy laugh***

**Hope you enjoy young!Shiro-chan~**

**Edit: Aah, Chris Colfer, why are you so cu-ute.**

* * *

><p>One fine, sunny day, the marketplace in District 1 of Rukongai was filled with merry, busy people, greeting and calling and bargaining, left, right, and center. And one Hitsugaya Toushiro walked through the lot, head down and engrossed in the shopping list his grandmother had written for him. So preoccupied with his duty, he took little notice of a particularly sickly-looking child, deathly pale with shadowed eyes, trudging slowly through the crowd from the other way alone, dragging his bare feet as though they were ill-fitting boots.<p>

As the two children passed each other, the littler, weaker one stopped abruptly, turned, and laid his sunken eyes on the snowy-haired boy's retreating back. There was a large ripping noise, and somebody shrieked; distracted, Toushiro turned to see what the commotion was about.

Less than ten minutes later, the streets were empty. There was a rotten smell lingering in the air, along with the almost tangible scent of kidou and raw power, mingling with the settling dust and light smoke where a Hollow attack had hit a wooden hut. The echoes of the chaos, now passed, filled with horror and screams and uncontrollable fear, still seemed to resonate through the deafeningly silent marketplace.

Even as he closed his eyes, he could still see the gleaming red boring into them. Even as he huddled in a ball against the wall, next to the stack of discarded wooden crates, kicked aside and abandoned by their owner, he could feel the spiritual pressure digging down on him, weighing down on his shoulders and torso and crumpling him to the ground. He tried to shut his mind, clear his head, focus on _something_ that could get him out of this – imaginary, he told himself, it's _all in your mind_ – grip, but the other force was too great, and his heart was still pounding, still sending waves of dizzying panic around his body.

In an instant, he remembered everything the village people had told him behind his protective, no–nonsense grandmother's back.

Shinigamis can kill you with a glance.

Shinigamis can burn you alive with a thought.

Shinigamis can read your mind.

Shinigamis will hurt you and the people you care for.

Keep away from the Shinigami.

Run if you don't want to die.

_Don't believe them, Toushiro._

And if it's too late, hide and pray they won't find you_._

_Come away, Toushiro._

There was a scraping sound coming from somewhere before him, making his breath hitch and his arms quiver. Footsteps, he realized, walking across the gritty, dusty road of the now empty marketplace. Sounding louder. Coming closer.

Please don't let him find me. I am but a part of this wall. I am nothing he should be interested in. I am nothing.

_Keep your eyes shut,_ he thought, terrified. _Don't look him in the eye and he won't be able to get into your mind, he can't kill you._

_But if his mere presence can make you, Hitsugaya Toushiro, tremble and blubber like a baby, do you really think you stand a chance?_

He was too scared to even move a muscle, let alone lift an eyelid. He was frozen like a statue, the knowledge that the footsteps were nearing him, the sound of the sandals scuffing against the ground so loud that the Shinigami could have been beside him, shocking his brain into stopping to function in ways that could get him to run, or fight, or scream. A whimper caught in his throat and died there when the Shingami stopped, the silence deafening now, and then something whispered right in front of his face.

_Open your eyes, Toushiro._

What awaits you is only death.

The two voices battled for his conscience inside of him, but fear won him over and he squeezed his eyes ever tighter. He thought he'd felt something cool rest on his cheek, and in a wild moment of paranoia he saw again in his mind's eye the gleaming edge of a zanpakuto, cold and deadly as it shot through the milling crowd, piercing a Hollow that had been wearing human skin and reemerging, splattered with dark blood, from the other side. It was only after he had flinched back slightly, as much as his paralyzed limbs would let him, when he noticed that whatever was touching his face was smaller and softer, almost like a finger.

More joined that lone object, stapling together and cupping the side of his face even as he started to tremble in fright. It started moving slowly, brushing strands of stray hair and dirt from his skin, carefully stroking along the line of his cheekbones, and only rubbing in circles, as though it was massaging the tension out of his facial muscles. He felt himself relaxing just a little bit into the comforting motion, and he stopped trying to draw blood from his bottom lip with his teeth; it was an action he had been unaware of until that moment.

Don't trust the Shinigami.

He almost jerked back, utter horror dawning on him again as comprehension returned to him. This was a killer, a god, a controller and harbinger of death that need only think to make something happen. Outwardly they all looked human – just like that Hollow, disguising itself as a human child that had been vanquished in front of his eyes. They could be warm and have perfect skin and bright, shining eyes, but inside they were also all the same; bound to their duty, to tear up the land with their brutal fights. The better ones were arrogant and kicked dirt in the faces of people from even the 1st District; the worst cared nothing of anyone, considered everyone apart from themselves insects at most, and would do and sacrifice anything to get what they want. Cold-blooded and haughty, the lot of them.

He was being touched by one of them now.

A cry of rage gurgled somewhere in his chest, he could not pull away but instead he managed to turn his head to the side, teeth gritted as the hand slid off. His eyes were kept tightly shut.

A soft voice startled him then.

"Tha's no way to thank a saviour," it said.

His breathing was shallow, the presence that had been kept at bay creeping back on him and grasping at him again with invisible, clawed hands. He tried to suck in air by parting his lips a little, but somehow it stuck and didn't reach his lungs.

"Open ya eyes," the voice said again, quietly. "Look at me."

He would suck out your soul and feast on it and make you do unspeakable things –

_I was never afraid of you._

They lull you into a false sense of security and then they spring, traps and plagues and storms and droughts –

_This is cowardice, Toushiro._

His long eyelashes fluttered, the harsh sunlight a mild shock after the prolonged darkness.

The voice above him sounded pleased. "Look at me," it repeated. "And look at wha' I've saved ya from."

They will bring you to your death –

_Then face death with your eyes wide open._

He lifted his eyelids, revealing large, clear, teal eyes, and looked into those red ones that he had glimpsed before – only to find them hidden behind narrowed, smiling slits of the Shinigami looking down at him. The death god was shielding his view of the scene of the attack, casting a long shadow over him. Silver hair, smooth and slightly long, fell about his pointed face, around the lips that were stretched out into a discomforting smile.

Toushiro stared up at him, arms still hugging his thin legs to his chest, letting out the breath he had been holding shakily. He was suddenly very aware of the shabby, thin piece of cloth he called a kimono on his body, as opposed to the fine sheening black the figure before him adorned. The man straightened, still smiling, and took a step back, turning his body around to let him see the remains of the marketplace.

"Now," he murmured, "Look."

His grip around his knees tightened.

The area was, as he had thought, completely deserted by now, and several wooden buildings lay in ruins. Everybody had fled - not a single soul was in sight. The remains of the Hollow had been turned back into spiritual particles the moment it had ceased to retain enough power to exist, but the deep claw marks in the ground and the smatter of blood here and there suggested the ferocity of the fight. Not that the Shinigami before him seemed to be suffering any of the aftereffects – his grin was still in place, and when Toushiro turned his gaze back on him, a shiver ran down his spine when he realized the narrow, unseen eyes were turned on him.

He swallowed, and made to stand up, knees threatening to buckle from underneath him. The Shinigami made no move to help him or otherwise, merely observing him as he gasped for breath and had to support himself to stay upright, back against the wall. A wave of nausea hit him as soon as he made a sudden movement; his head was woozy and his mind disbelieving of the events that had transpired on what was supposed to have been a simple market trip to grab some groceries. Worse, the presence of the Shinigami was weighing on him far more heavily than he had thought, and now that he had witnessed the devastating aftermath of a real fight, the realisation that now it was only he and the silver-haired man swathed in black standing in what was one of Rukongai's most busiest streets just a few minutes ago dawned on him anew.

Having had enough of the disaster scene in front of him, he swallowed and turned back to the Shinigami, feigning braveness. His defiant stare made the Shinigami chuckle; a light sound, almost abnormal in the situation, and he felt chills down his spine. His grin never seemed to falter, in any case.

"Ya don't seem ta have been taught many manners," he said, almost making the boy jolt. "What do ya say when somebody saves yer skin?"

The snowy-haired boy averted his gaze to focus on a charred bit of a house in the distance, over the Shinigami's shoulder. "I thank you," he said, almost robotically. He wanted to swallow and freshen his hoarse voice, but stopped himself with one look at the man. "And apologize. I have…never seen anything like this."

He was careful with his words, choosing them to keep the emotion out of his voice, so that the Shinigami wouldn't be able to hear the shaking underneath the bravado and gloat in it. But he laughed anyway, a stifled giggle which indicated he was having some sort of sick fun at the boy's answer. He resisted the urge to scowl.

"I would s'ppose so," the Shinigami replied. "Not every day ya get a monster shedding its cute little skin, huh? Especially when ya happened ta be passing it in the streets, minding ya own business…how did it feel? Ta see the body of an ickle toddler mutate, its eyes rollin' back so ya could see the whites, its flesh bulking and tearing tha' shoddy skin full of holes?"

The boy's guts churned, sending warning signals in his head. The man was insane. The rumors were right. Not everybody was Jidanbou in Seireitei, there were freaks like these that enjoyed tormenting innocent's minds and laughed at their horror. He managed to keep silent, but his expression seemed to tell the Shinigami everything.

"I wonder where it got tha' skin in the first place, though?" he continued, obviously enjoying how he was keeping the terrified boy rooted to the spot, with no choices other than to hang on to every word. "Ya ever hear any recent news of a child tha' age disappearing? No? Well, Rukongai's a big place. Tha' Hollow could have caught the kid anywhere, eaten its insides, slipped into the leftover like it was a tight set o' clothes…"

He couldn't breathe.

The boy took a staggering step back, only to feel his heel connect with the wall, only to have the Shinigami towering over him, resting an arm above his head on the wood. He wanted to shove him away, he didn't want to hear this, he didn't want to think that that child could have been him.

"You're lying," he croaked out. The man lifted a sleek eyebrow.

"Well, tha's for ya ta decide ta believe, I guess." He raised his other arm to scratch at his own cheek. "Do ya know why I'm here, boy?"

The younger one blinked up at the shadowed leering face in confusion, taken aback by the sudden change in the subject. "Wha–? What do you mean?" he asked, completely nonplussed.

"I'm on a walk," the man continued as if Toushiro had not said anything, and as though he did not care. "Mah captain's an old fuss, he likes ta dump work on me so he can – go clean his glasses or somethin', I don't know. So I take a walk jus' ta spite him. 'Coarse, that work isn't going ta magically get itself done, so I'll have ta get back soon ta see if my captain's given up and doing it himself, or if he's losin' his patience with me and staying any longer means mah own hide on the line. Practice makes perfect, see, an' I've done this enough ta know when's the perfect time ta return and check which it's gonna be."

Toushiro made an experimental shift to his right. The man leant in closer, blocking his exit further, his grin widening to a frightening extent.

"'t's a pity," he murmured, and the boy shivered as his hot breath hit his face, "'Cause I thought I'd found myself a real gem."

He was too close. The wooziness in Toushiro's head wasn't receding, and it was all he could do to muster up his strength, and glare at the babbling Shinigami.

"Let me go," he hissed.

The smile faded a little – and Toushiro's heart jumped, making him wish he had not said anything – but the man's voice, though still too close, too low, sounded more amused than before. "When I take walks, I don't really think. It's a good change, ya know, it brings me back ta the old days. But rarely – almost never, until today happened – very rarely, I find mahself in a place I would never want ta go, 'specially when I'm searching fer some peace and quiet. Like here, sorta."

The smell was lifting, being carried by a rising wind. It did not matter to Toushiro, who's nose was filled with the smell of man and smoke and danger.

"I was drawn here," the man said, almost to himself. "I wasn't thinking, an' I was pulled here. By something strange, but strong. And tha's saying something, considering where I live now."

He finally pulled away, stepping back to allow Toushiro just enough space to breathe. The boy hadn't noticed how much he had been pressing himself against the wall until he was able to relax, although his hackles were still raised as he noted the Shinigami still watching him. The fear was slowly replacing itself with anger, for letting himself be cowed like that, and for the man spouting incomprehensible nonsense, taking his time with it and _enjoying_ every second of it.

"Get away," he snarled, his voice raspy and shaking from excitement, "Go back to the hole you came from."

"As I said before, ya have no manners," the man mocked him, always, always grinning. "And ta think all this happened because of ya."

Something stirred within him, but Toushiro forced it down, urging himself to not get caught up with the Shinigami's riddles and lies. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he spat hatefully. "It's none of my business that – that _thing_ wandered in here looking to feed, and I certainly had nothing to do with you showing up and–"

"That thing was here fer _ya,_" the man said, suddenly softly. "As I am, too. Ya have power, kid. A Shinigami's power. And," his grin was back, though Toushiro didn't know when it had disappeared completely, and it stretched from ear to ear, "Things alike are attracted ta each other, ya know that?"

The sickness was back. He tried to plug his ears, and stop the words from flowing into his mind, planting its evil seeds there and corrupting his soul. But his body was rigid still, as if the death god had cast a petrifying spell upon him, rendering his limbs useless and hanging. His mouth worked, but only through pure will.

"I…I am nothing like that monster," he said harshly. "And I am nothing like _you_. I do not kill for leisure, or hunger, unlike you. Don't – _ever_ – compare yourself with me, Shinigami."

He knew, in himself, that that was true - he was a boy, and he had never consciously robbed someone of their life for any reason. And yet – though he could deny the motives Hollows and Shinigamis had to murder, and ruin, he could not deny the means to do it. He could not deny – that sometimes, he felt _something_, coiled in his chest and roaring for the chains to be released. That maybe, maybe, there was something in there…

The reaper did not look the least offended at his insults. Instead, he chuckled, and raised an arm as if to touch the top of Toushiro's head. When the boy flinched away, glaring with green, clear eyes, he dropped his hand.

"I would never," he murmured, smiling and showing his teeth. "Ya have potential within you tha' I could never hope ta match up ta. But think about this, boy–"

He stepped away lightly, one step, two, until he was standing in the middle of the dirt road, with collapsed stalls and houses in the background, and the sun high at noon.

"Don't ya think it's a tad too coincidental fer me _and _that Hollow ta have been here, before ya, at the same time?"

He turned, long black robes whirling, and seemed to vanish into thin air the next moment. But that was not before Toushiro glimpsed the dark, small armband, with the word "Five", and the drooping buds of lilies of the valley engraved on it.

* * *

><p>Not too long later, Toushiro remembered the man and his words, this time in a different sense. He had considered asking the lady – who's bosom continued to irk him, and he was glad they were not to meet again for a hopefully long time – about him, for it could not be too hard to find a man with that description.<p>

He had decided against it, eventually, because the mere memory of the tall, fox-faced stranger made him shiver, now for reasons other than terror. He was a lieutenant, an entity far stronger and more dangerous than Toushiro had initially taken him for. If whatever that had made the pair meet truly existed, then it would work again should need be – because Seireitei was, for all its grandiose, smaller than Rukongai and packed with Shinigami. If fate said that they were to meet, it would not be as difficult as the first time.

And when that happened, he would get the man back for playing with him.

* * *

><p><strong>Modern World, why can't you leave me alone in my retreat and let me become a hermit. *burrows back under blankets*<strong>


	8. Landslide

**Hey, I think I'm getting the hang of this updating thing! I mean, I wrote this a little while back, and stuff kept on getting in my way of actually uploading it...my dog dying, my school ending and all the chaos until then, my part-time job, preparing for a driving school, a bunch of stuff. At least I have fanfiction, dotHack games, and the new season of Hetalia to tide me through :D**

**Cheer me up with lots of reviews? I know that's sort of under the belt, but I would reeeaaally like them!**

* * *

><p><em>You went away on a winter day<br>When the snow was drifting  
>And the roads blanketted white<br>You went away on a winter day  
>Now what's left is a damp patch of cold<em>

_You went away in the shivering air_  
><em>You left it quiet and still and bare<em>  
><em>You went away without a word<em>  
><em>And left me to find you<em>  
><em>Missing, sleeping<em>

_You left us to cry_  
><em>You left us to wish<em>  
><em>That there had been<em>  
><em>Some more time<em>  
><em>You left us to love you<em>  
><em>Even more<em>  
><em>Though it's too late to learn you again...<em>

_You went away on a winter day_  
><em>You went somewhere<em>  
><em>Far Away<em>  
><em>Now I don't know what's on the<em>  
><em>Other Side<em>  
><em>But if you're there<em>  
><em>Just, if you're there...<em>

_I hope I will see you again._

* * *

><p><strong>Landslide<strong>

The right side of the bed was empty and cold when Toushiro woke up, shivering slightly as his drowsy mind registered the pinching winter air. He pulled the blankets tighter around himself, only vaguely noting the curtains pulled back to allow the room to be filled with white morning light, and tried to crawl back into the deep slumber that called him back to its lair.

But the memories of the night before – or rather, earlier this morning – resurfaced almost predictably just as he was dropping back to sleep, and Toushiro let out a low growl at the unease that crept back up on him again. It dug its tiny claws on his body and refused to let go, letting the shame and embarrassment catch up as the boy screwed his eyes tighter shut, to no avail. After taking a long time to calm down last night, Toushiro had crept back to bed almost timidly, afraid of how Gin would react and ashamed that he had let a mere dream get the better of him, in more ways than one. He thanked what god he hadn't yet disgusted into abandonment that Gin had chosen not to comfort him the moment he had come back; he wasn't quite sure what he would have said, or done, then.

This wasn't the first time he had had night terrors, and much to his guilty dismay, the worst hadn't come from almost freezing his grandmother to death with his reiatsu. It came fro darker parts of his mind, some of his first memories as a newly recruited shinigami, on several consecutive missions that had kept him away from the relative comfort and security of Seireitei. They had required him to fight, and fight, and fight. He would wake in the stifling darkness of his room in later years, breathing hard and seeing things moving in the dark, screams of both Hollows and Shinigami ringing in his ears. There would be the faint remnants of something warm sprinkling his face, neck, and uncovered arms, as the glimmer of liquid garnet flew in an arc across his room.

Of course, it was all in his mind, but in these moments he couldn't _not_ see the battleground seeped red, the heavy objects fallen strewn across it.

_("What are you doing!?" his former commander will yell, before being crushed by a giant, deformed hand that reeked of death and strife and despair. Sometimes, he would still be screaming.)_

It took even longer for him to ease out the nervous alertness that had imbedded itself under his skin, in his always-tense muscles. He had to spend a few weeks off normal deskwork since his return; he had been so jumpy. In time, he grew accustomed to hiding the urge to jerk away every time someone touched him, but the nightmares all but proved that deep down, he wasn't cured at all.

_(Once, he'd woken thrashing, by a concerned Ichimaru, and had proceeded to lunge at his throat for he had mistook him for some non-existent enemy. That had been the first time he had disclosed his problems to anyone, sobbing into the man's chest afterwards and clutching at him desperately. Ichimaru had held him close, comforting him with low, rumbling murmurs even as Toushiro's reiatsu rose wildly against his control. When, finally, he had managed to coax the boy under the covers again, Toushiro dimly recalled a thin sheet of fine whiteness covering the older captain's bare skin – and that Ichimaru had been letting his power flow into Toushiro for warmth, even though he hadn't needed protection from his own Hyourinmaru.)_

He turned his head on the pillow. The sunlight was warm on his face, but it was bright and stung his eyes. As he closed them, Toushiro felt the edges of darkness creep into his mind, overtaking his awareness, and swallowing him whole.

He had no idea how long he had lain there, eyes closed, letting himself be lulled into the gentle waves of sleep and warmth. It could have been a few minutes, or hours, but his mind refused to resurface, nor sink completely into the depth of unconsciousness. The drifting was oddly comforting, and he may have even sighed in his slumber.

All too soon, a clicking noise alerted his brain to pull out of the dark sea world, and back to reality. His eyes opened groggily when padding feet neared his bed, and a tall figure came into his vision.

"You awake?" a voice asked, quietly, so as not to disturb the peace of the morning, still as the water in some forgotten lake.

Toushiro's hand twitched at the sound. "Mm," he mumbled. He was still very drowsy.

Something soft swept over his face, brushing warmth over his cheek and eyelids, and he rolled heavily over onto his back to settle there. Now it's perfect, he thought sleepily, now Gin's here...

His eyes flew open.

Gin stood beside the bed, awkwardly holding a slightly steaming mug. Heat rushed to Toushiro's face as he remembered his thoughts from earlier in the morning, and last night...

"Gin," he said, and his voice was hoarse.

The man hesitated, before handing him the cup in his hand. "I made some tea," he said almost shyly. It took Toushiro a few seconds to register his words.

He blinked a couple of times until his senses had caught up, and let out a strangled 'thank you' automatically. Their fingers brushed as the tea was passed from hand to hand, and Toushiro shivered, and tried not to take note of the fact that Gin's seemed to linger just a little bit.

The liquid was searing hot, and he struggled to sip it through pursed lips, taking care not to burn his tongue. But it offered an appropriate distraction from the man standing beside his bed, waiting patiently, and from the silence that just seemed to become tenser as it stretched on. A million thoughts flew through his head - what to do, what to say, how could he explain his actions when he himself didn't know what came over him - each one more depressing than the last.

An apology would be sufficient, he decided eventually, taking a long, slow sip - swallow, from the cup. Tell him it was just a bad dream. No further questions.

And he'll tell no lies.

Toushiro steeled himself, his grip tightening on the mug and drinking from it again even as he thought to lower it, to raise his head and look Gin in the eyes, to end this - just as the man himself abruptly broke the silence with his soft, lyrical voice.

"Your den...dens... your phone was ringing," Gin finished quietly, and Toushiro almost spat his tea out.

"You didn't answer it, did you?" he asked quickly, after he had finished choking the hot liquid down.

The other shook his head, before pulling said device from his jeans pocket and presenting it to Toushiro. He then sat down beside the still-coughing boy, and patted him on the back patiently as Toushiro hurried to open his denreishinki.

He scanned his eyes over the call history, and sighed in relief. "It's just Matsumoto," he muttered, as his tensed muscles relaxed visibly under Gin's touch. Matsumoto was ordered to only call for talk of business, but had it been anyone else, Toushiro would have considered packing and moving before the Onmitsukido could come for them. Toushiro could feel the hesitance in Gin's fingers, the uncertainty; he was tempted to let himself be held by him, and reassure him that last night was _nothing_, but if his vice had called him, something urgent might be underway.

Instead, he reached over, and kissed Gin on the cheek. He tried to ignore the twitch of muscle under skin when his lips touched it, an almost flinch.

"I have to make a call," he said quietly, and slipped out of the man's hold. He didn't have the courage to look back until he had closed the door to their room, lest the expression on Gin's face broke him.

* * *

><p>He tried to ignore it. Really, he did.<p>

But the name just seemed to turn up everywhere. In his lessons, in the tutor's lectures, in the rumours of the many going-ons about every major mission the Gotei undertook. He sometimes found himself wishing he could go back to the time when everything was simple, when he had no idea what – _who_– that name meant, and didn't have to feel his heart jumping every time he heard those strange, slick syllables from down a corridor, or jumping out to him from a text book.

Ichimaru Gin. The name haunted his mind as firmly as that smile etched into it. It made him believe that he should have never come to this place they called an Academy, it only served to torture him, tease him with unbidden thoughts, yank him in every direction except _closer_–

He should never have sought out the name himself. But what kind of shinigami, in-training or no, does not know his own leaders' name? Or that's what he told himself when he went rifling through the public records in the library, flipping through the yellowing pages until he found the present Vice-Captain of the Fifth Division. Ichimaru Gin. Ichimaru Gin, he found his lips wordlessly forming.

He was one of the more popular rumours amongst the students. Finished all six years of the Academy in a single one, granted a seated position almost immediately after his graduation. Promoted to Vice not so long – for a shinigami – later. No-one knew much about his life before all that. Strong, powerful, mysterious.

He started listening to Momo's rants about her new found idol whenever she deigned to leave her year's floor and the strange boys – friends, she called them – whom he regarded suspiciously from behind her back. Captain Aizen this, Captain Aizen that, Captain Aizen apparently does not appreciate the dried persimmons his vice-captain gives him, why does he keep doing that? If I were his vice – oh, but that's so presumptuous of me...

Sometimes he wondered where she, an ordinary girl who was still a student at the Academy, got all her information from.

Sometimes he stops, from pulling a book out of a high shelf, in his tracks walking to class, in his bed in the dormitory room he shared with three other snoring, burly boys. Sometimes he asks himself why he had to act this way. Why the mention of a single man, a man he had met only once, and had more unpleasant memories of than not; why Ichimaru Gin had such an effect on him. Maybe it was trauma. The events surrounding his appearance were fitting, and the man himself creepy enough, but try as he might Toushiro could not dredge up any sensation of disgust. None, apart from the dizzying feeling he got when he caught any mention of him, and an invisible band constricting around his chest, making it hard to breathe.

He went from class to class, month to month, locked in the sensation that he was frustratingly missing the point of something, when it slipped from underneath his finger every time he tried to put it on it. He made very little friends, but his fame grew every day. Eventually he was going from the second year, straight to the sixth, and thankfully some months after Momo and her – friends, he would sniff – had graduated already.

He stopped, again, in his monotonous life of studying and training and taking the special exams his homeroom tutor set him to "test his abilities", coloured only by his frequent letters to his grandmother. For the first time, he wondered what his life would be like once they finished deciding which Division he would be put him in after his own graduation. And as Toushiro sat there on his desk, chin on hand and staring out at the clear autumn sky from his new window, in a room he had all to himself now, the realisation dawned on him; he would be going to Seireitei. He would be working in the Gotei. Ichimaru Gin was there.

And for the first time, he panicked. Not, obviously, at the prospect of having to work in a world of adults, of becoming what he had cursed, of facing death as a job and nothing more, but because he knew the man would find him, and see him, and remember him. He was not like Momo. He knew that the shinigami would notice him, and he had no time to be modest about it.

Ichimaru Gin would recognise him. How could he not, when even the residents of Rukongai needed only to see Toushiro once before turning the other way thenceforth? They will undoubtedly meet some day, and they would know of each other then, and then, and then...

He didn't know what came next. He knew next to nothing about what kind of _person_this Ichimaru was, despite all the stories milling around in these student infested halls. The man was unpredictable, and unstoppable, and Toushiro didn't know if he could take what the shinigami would throw.

Maybe he wouldn't throw at all. Maybe he would only spare him a passing glance, or even nothing at all, and disappear from his reach, just like he did back at the market. And it was only when Toushiro found himself balling his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, that he realised he didn't want Ichimaru to _ignore_him. Quite the opposite.

This was bad. This was very, very, bad.

The chair scraped, teetered, as he stood abruptly. He had very little possessions of his own; the dark wooden floor gleamed dully as he started pacing it quickly. His eyes fell on his bag, the one his grandmother had made for him before he left, sitting innocently at the foot of his bed – and turned away quickly. He dared not entertain the idea of running. Toushiro had potential, the teachers knew, and the "officials" in Seireitei they worked for knew, and Toushiro knew that they knew. He was valuable, as he'd figured from stolen snippets of conversation, and what he had caught of the strangely pitying looks from the professors. He was too deep into this for them to let him slip from their fingers. He may very well be in the Gotei until the day he died. And he prided himself on being not as innocent, nor gullible as the rest of the students – gods, only _children_– because he'd read the reports. Because his inner cynicism read between the lines and saw what the shinigami was capable of. Lips curled, he had noted that not all the rumours back in Rukongai were completely untrue.

He had no choice but to go. Go and begin his life as one of them. Go and face Ichimaru.

Face the man he may or may not be taken with, yet enough so that he was not allowed to forget. Face the man who had changed his life.

His face heated at the thought. But the weight of his resolution brought him back down to the firm, sweet ground, and he exhaled harshly and forced himself to relax. He will know soon enough. Ichimaru would be waiting there, after all, right up at the top. And Toushiro would meet him there, and _show_him how far he had come.

He had plenty of time to get used to the idea till then, anyhow.

Flopping on to his bed, somehow feeling drained, Toushiro stared up at the blank, white ceiling. When he closed his eyes, the images played on the back of his eyelids – Ichimaru Gin leaning over him, his voice a whisper that fluttered over his ear, and cold, cold fingers that brushed over the skin of his cheek, making it burn.

* * *

><p><strong>And once again I have no idea what to do from here on!<strong> **Ah, well, it's not the first time. I'll catch my plot bunny soon enough :D *grabs hunting cap and rifle***


End file.
